


The Guardian

by silverspidertm2



Series: The Changeling Sequence [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood: Lost Days, Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Brothers, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspidertm2/pseuds/silverspidertm2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a cross-country road trip with Dick, Jason grudgingly renters the world of the living outside of Wayne Manor. But when tragedy strikes, the only place to turn to will always be family. Sequel to "The Changeling".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, everyone! First of all, I want to again say thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've received for this fic's predecessor, “The Changeling” and also for “Deluge in the Wasteland.” I'm very proud of both of those, so your support is highly appreciated. Second, I'm going to be at the NYC Comic Con tomorrow :) So if anyone wants to hang, let me know!  
> A few words about this fic:  
> * The idea and title of this fic is kind of the reverse of “The Changeling”. The first story was about Jason and Damian's return home, the question of which of them is the real son/brother. Of course, the answer is 'both'. Jason was the big bother, the protector. In this fic, since it starts out with Dick and Jason, we have a bit of a roll reversal and see how Jason deals with being the younger one. Of course as the story goes on, we'll get more and more characters.  
> * It takes place about 6 months after “The Changeling” so everyone is still kinds of adjusting. Some ideas/decisions for this fic actually came to me while I was in the middle of writing its predecessor. Most of those are centered around what secondary characters are alive or not and when in the old DC-timeline does this take place.  
> * There are a few italics sections that are either dreams, flashbacks, or thoughts. It's easy enough to distinguish.  
> * This fic will borrow elements of two major DC events and I may take others. Most of those are general JLA stories. Some will impact the Bat-family more than others, but all will be told from their povs. And on that note, I'll also say that some characters will not come off in the greatest light, not because I don't like them, but because if it's told from Jason's pov, he has some very strong opinions based on personal history with either the person or the topic.

_It’s a different version of the dream, but somehow the same. Always the same..._

_There’s darkness, deep and penetrating, and cold dampness everywhere. Jason tries to scream but his lungs are filled with fluid – or maybe there’s just no air, he doesn’t know – and the scream dies._

_This isn’t supposed to be happening. It’s not! Not again._

_A light appears in the distance, and Jason wants to run, even crawl, any way to get to it. It glimmers, winks once then dims. It’s about to go out, trapping him forever in this dank hell._

“ _No!”_

Jason sat bolt upright, cold sweat covering every inch of his skin. He almost fell back down immediately. The covers were tightly tucked into the mattress, confining, constricting. He pushed at them, panting, but they didn’t budge enough. With a cry of frustration, he tore at them, and finally – finally! - he was free. Why were they like that? Alfred knew he couldn’t stand that tucked in feeling. Not anymore.

“Jay?” A light on the bedside table went on.

His head jerked sharply to his left, pulling a muscle painfully. Dick was getting out of a bed only a few feet away from his. A deep frown creased his brother’s forehead, and Jason had to again wonder what was going on. First the sheets, now Dick... why was Dick in his room? His brother pushed his own covers aside, swinging around to sit on the edge of the bed. Jason blinked at him, bewildered, and then it started to come back to him, slowly, in pieces.

They were in a hotel room, somewhere near the Texas border, if he recalled correctly. Road trip... right, now he remembered. The sheets were so tight because that’s how the hotels always prepared the beds, and he’d forgotten to pull them out all the way before falling asleep this time. That explained the nightmare.

Dick was still looking at him worriedly, then rose, went to their duffel bags by the door and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and walked back handing it to him. Jason made a face and pushed his hand away.

“‘m fine.”

“Have some water anyway,” Dick nodded at him, annoyingly patient. “It’s hot in here. You’ll feel better.” As if to prove his point, he took a long swallow too and held the bottle to him again. Jason sighed, but took it this time and drank. It helped a little.

“I’m fine,” he repeated with a little less malice this time. “Seriously, Dick. My big brother doesn’t need to get up every time I have a bad dream. It’s stupid. ‘m not five.”

“It’s not stupid,” the older man objected, then tossed his cell on Jason’s bed. Dick went to to pick up his jeans and a shirt. “I’m going to see if we an check out a little earlier. Be back in ten.”

Ten minutes was too much time just for going to the front office and back, but Jason knew what he was not-so-subtly doing. He appreciated it, appreciated Dick not saying it out right and saving at least some of his pride. Leaning back onto the pillows, wide awake now, Jason picked up the abandoned phone and dialed 1 then send.

There was only one ring before... “Hello?”

The voice washed over him like a wave of warm air, wrapping around him like an embrace and finally Jason felt at peace.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Jason.” He couldn’t detect any surprise in his father’s voice, but then Bruce was the world’s greatest detective. That and like Dick, he was helping him maintain some dignity. “How are you?”

“Okay.” It was the truth now. At this moment, he was alright. “We’re almost to Texas now.”

“Yeah?” He thought he heard the smile in his voice.

“Dick’s got his heart set on the Dallas. I’m just here for the Mexican food.”

This time the amusement was unmistakable. “How’s your brother?”

 _Well, he’s gotta put up with my crap, so I don’t know_. But instead he said, “Fine. Hogging the wheel of _my_ new car.”

“Is your new car still as... new as before?” The question was posed carefully.

“Nothing but fifteen hundred extra miles.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“ _Are you sure this is it?” Bruce looked doubtfully at the blue-black Dodge Charger pulled up in front of Wayne manor. Next to him, eight-year-old Damian was also frowning, head tilted slightly in a perfect replica of his father’s expression._

“ _Yup!” Jason announced happily, leaning on the roof at the driver’s side. “What d’ you think?”_

 _On the other side, Dick who had come with him to pick it up from the shady dealer on in the East End, simply shrugged at Bruce as if to say that he’d tried to talk him out of it. He had, but Jason had been adamant that_ this _was his car._

“ _It’s old,” Damian piped in. “And beat up.”_

_It was true. The shiny black paint was marked with chips, scratches, and dents that would have to be hammered out. The entire car would have to be repainted, the wheels changed. The air conditioning and radio were d.o.a.. Hell, from the sound of it, Jason might even have to replace parts of the engine._

_He didn’t care._

“ _It’s a classic,” he told his little brother. “I had my eye on this car since I was younger than you.”_

_He didn’t mention the fact that back then it was already well past its prime. It was a 1968 model which might have made it a classic in the right circles and if its previous owner had been from somewhere more affluent than the East End of Gotham. Damian wrinkled his nose in distaste._

“ _Can’t you afford anything better?”_

 _Jason had to remind himself that Damian had no real concept of where he’d come from and how sensitive the subject of money could be in general. He might be Bruce Wayne’s son, but he’d never forget the first twelve years of his life on the streets of Gotham. The fact was that back then this – specifically_ this _– car was what he dreamed off._

_Bruce put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to stop him from speaking, but he was looking at Jason. “We can find something newer,” he told Jason. “Or maybe you want the Infinity...”_

“ _No, Dad,” he shook his head. They just weren’t getting it. “I don't want something new. I want something to...” He looked at his hands as if the right words would be there, and they were. “I want something to tinker with, to fix, and I_ dreamed _about this car since I was a kid.”_

“ _I’m just...” Bruce paused, eying said Dodge suspiciously._ _He looked like he wanted to say that it didn't look safe, something Jason found hilarious, all things considered._

“ _I already made him promise i_ _t won’t leave the garage until it’s fixed.” Dick chimed in. “We're going all_ Fast and the Furious _on this thing.”_

_Bruce shot him a look. “Not a comforting mental image.”_

_Inwardly Jason rolled his eyes but on the surface he nodded helpfully. “Family project.”_

_His father sighed, shaking his head. “If that’s what you want. Let’s get it into the garage.”_

* * * * * * * * * *

Jason yawned. The anxiety of the nightmare had ebbed, and now his body was remembering that it was one in the morning and he _was_ tired because they’d been driving all day. His father, hearing it, pauses the questions. They weren’t really important. He just needed an excuse to hear his voice, and Bruce knew that.

“You should sleep.” His father suggested mildly. “We can talk tomorrow.”

He nodded, then on impulse asked, “You going out on patrol?”

t was a stupid question. Of course he was going. He always went. So Jason was a little surprised that there was almost a second-ling pause. Finally his father said, “Yes.”

“Major case?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

“Care to share?”

“No.” This time there was no hesitation. “I’m not going to give you more nightmares, Jason.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t want you to think about it. Try to get some rest.”

“Yeah.” He knew once Bruce made up his mind there was little that could change it. “Night, Dad.”

Jason almost added ‘be careful’ but that would have been redundant. He just repeated the ‘good-night’ and closed the phone, tossing it haphazardly on Dick’s bed, before plopping face down onto the pillows of his own and turning off the bedside lamp.

The comforting warmth that he always felt during these calls was seeping away, but this time he was tired enough to at least attempt to go back to sleep. Jason kicked the covers completely off the bed. The air conditioner was going at full blast, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be confined again, not even by a blanket, not tonight.

The door slowly open and Dick walk back in, but not really up for explaining himself, Jason pretended to sleep.

He awoke completely when the sun was bright in the window, far later than most of the time. The table by the door was covered in plates of bagels, two omelets, and bowls of fruit. The scent of bacon wafted passed his nose, and his stomach automatically growled.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

The door opened, out of the corner of his half-closed lids, he saw Dick come in caring two cups of coffee, one of which he sat on the table by the door. The mattress sank at the edge under his brother’s weight, and he felt the heat of the coffee cup in front of his face. Jason wrinkled his nose and burred his face deeper in the pillow. Dick grinned and patted his back. It occurred to him that it similar to the way he used to wake Damian when they were running to Gotham.

“Up and at ‘em, Little Wing. Long drive ahead.”

“Time is it?” he groaned.

“Almost ten. Come on. I got breakfast.”

“Ten?” Jason sat up and swung his legs over the edge just as Dick rose. “What happened to getting on the road early?”

“Jay,” his brother gave him the kind of sympathetic look that made him want to punch him. “You were sleeping. Actually sleeping, not tossing and turning. Want to talk about it?”

“What?” By that time, Jason was already up and reaching for a plate of eggs and bacon. “Oh, the nightmare!” He snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. “That’s right. You were in it. Something about... running around Gotham in your underwear. Pink panties, I think.”

“They were green,” Dick corrected without batting an eyelash. “You had a pair, and don’t change the subject. If you don’t want to talk about it...”

“I don’t.” Jason cut him off. “Not that you ever listen.”

“Okay, fine, fine.” Again, he’s surprised and for some reason annoyed how easily Dick let the whole thing go. “Breakfast, then driving. It’s your turn.”

“No shit, since it’s _my_ car.”

“Grouchy.” Dick popped a slice of bacon from his own plate with a grin. “Who logged all those hours helping you getting that piece of scrap road-worthy?”

“That's the only reason I ever let you pick the music.”

“The driver picks the music.” His brother objected. “Everyone knows that. It's a law of the universe. This universe, anyway.”

“Oh, good,” Jason finally grinned. “It's _Linkin Part_ time. Just downloaded the latest album.”

“Joy.” The first sign of annoyance finally flashed over Dick’s face. “Heavy metal in the morning.”

“Better than your old man eighties crap.” Jason was about to correct him that _Linkin Park_ was not metal but thought better of it. “So what are we looking at in Dallas?”

“I'm thinking... White Rock Lake Park? They have bike trails, canoeing, hiking...”

“Are we on a road trip or are you reciting your online dating profile?”

Dick threw a piece of hash-brown at him. “Alright, well what do you want to do in Dallas?”

“Go to clubs, eat a lot of Mexican food, drink mojitos...”

He almost added 'go to gun ranges', but even at this distance it felt disrespectful. In preparation for his tenure as Robin, his father had taught him how to work with almost every conceivable weapon, including fire arms, no matter how distasteful he himself found them. And Jason had been good; he knew that. He also knew that Bruce had gone through the no-doubt emotionally painful exercise because he thought there was a chance the knowledge might one day save Jason's life.

It hadn't, but that was not really the point.

Until his return, Jason hadn't really understand why his father felt the way he did about fire arms. Alright, so Thomas and Martha Waynes had technically been killed by bullets from a gun, but then John and Mary Grayson had fallen to their deaths in the circus. That hadn't stopped Dick from jumping across rooftops at night or even returning to the trapeze every once in a while.

But now, years later, Jason finally understood.

It had taken seeing his father's face when he had a gun pointed at himself, but he understood.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, thanks for all the amazing support on these story. The first few chapters will be kind of a slow build, so bear with me. The plot is coming. Enjoy and please review!

Some days were better than others.

Dick learned that soon after his parents died that it would always be like that. Some days would be filled with memories and pain and you wouldn’t be able to get away from them no matter how hard he tried. Other times – most of the time now for him – he could go on with his life fairly normally. He dealt better than Bruce, he knew that, but then Bruce never let himself heal from anything. Batman scraped that wound open each and every time because that’s what Batman was about. Dick couldn’t really say why Nightwing was different for him, but it was.

Jason’s death ran perpendicular to the slash that his parents’ murder had created on Bruce’s spirit, bloody and raw. Though he never voiced it, Dick had a theory that somehow, in the end, people were capable of dealing with the death of their parents. It was expected. No, maybe not when you’re eight, but eventually everyone’s parents die. To lose a child was another matter entirely.

So when Jason came back, he’d remained in the manor for a while, watching both father and son closely. On the surface they seemed okay, but Dick quickly realized that few conversations went beyond the superficial. Jason didn’t talk about his nightmares to anyone, and Bruce seemed afraid to push. It wasn’t... bad, but the progress from the beginning had apparently gone stagnant. Sometimes Dick thought that their most honest interaction was when they simply sat quietly in the study.

That was part of the reason he’d suggested this trip.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

_“_ _So I have a thought.”_

_Bruce looked up from his work computer. Work-work, not Batman-work, because Dick thought it might be a good idea to have this conversation in daylight hours at the office instead of at the manor where Jason – or Damian – could overhear. Bruce closed his laptop and looked at him expectantly._

_“_ _A thought,” Dick repeated, nervous for reasons he didn’t understand. “I haven’t been over to San Francisco in a while. Not since Tim started with the Titans, I think. Might be a good idea to drop in and say ‘hi’. Garth and Raven at least should be there.”_

_Bruce frowned, not understanding. “Are you... asking permission?”_

_“_ _No... well, yeah, kind of.” Dick took a breath. “I was thinking maybe Jason could come with me.”_

_The older man’s jaw imperceptibly tightened, and Dick knew he was probably thinking that over his dead body would anyone take his newly resurrected son across the country when he’d just gotten him back a few months ago. Completely understandable, all things considered, but Dick pressed on._

_“_ _He’s got to get out of the manor, Bruce,” he said as plainly and honestly as he could. “And the Titans are a lot less scary than anyone rich and famous he’d have to make nice with as Jason, Bruce Wayne’s long-lost son. You know I’m right.”_

_Bruce took a deep breath, then rose, and came around to lean on the edge of the enormous desk, arms crossed. “I don’t like it.”_

_“_ _I know, but you have to admit, he needs this. Part of the problem in the first place that he was always either with you or by himself. That’s too much time to marinate in your own juices, especially for someone with his set of issues, and I know it’s partially my fault because I wasn’t there, but now he needs to interact with people his own age.”_

_“_ _So you’re setting up a play date.”_

_He did have to read his mind – a task he was good at anyway – to know that Bruce was not happy about this brilliant idea of his. But he hadn’t outright said ‘no’ yet, which gave him hope._

_“_ _I’ll keep an eye on him,” Dick swore. “Both eyes. And we’ll call every single day. It’ll be good for everyone, especially Jason. He can’t be cooped up in the manor forever, you know that.”_

_“_ _I know.” His face still looked dark. “But I don’t know if the Titans are the best starting point. I...” Something else flashed across his face, a look Dick had seen so rarely that he almost didn’t recognize it for what it was._

_Vulnerability._

_Bruce breathed in again slowly. “I don’t want him encouraged to put on a mask again, Dick.”_

As if he doesn’t have that at home _, Dick thought but wasn’t about to call him out on that particular piece of hypocrisy. He got where Bruce was coming from. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Jason wanted to go out in the field again. Tim was out there, true, but even at several years younger, Tim had a maturity and levelheadedness to him that few others, especially Jason, possessed._

_“_ _I’ll look out for him,” Dick promised again. “And at the first sign of anything remotely serious, we’ll turn around and come back.”_

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Jason was studying the tablet intensely as they drove, fingers sliding over the screen as he scrolled through over a hundred gigabytes of music, picking a song and changing it just as quickly. It got on Dick’s nerves, but he tried to hide it. He got that Jason was re-antiquating himself with the modern world, learning new bands and songs, but in Dick’s opinion, he was taking this man-out-of-time thing a little too far.

He’d been gone for four years, not forty. Not exactly Captain America, and if Jason ever heard the reference from him, Dick was fairly sure he’d get his ass severely kicked. Tim had mentioned it once in passing and had received a murderous look in return. Of course, Jason didn’t pick on people smaller than himself, especially kids, so Tim went on oblivious. Dick was still not entirely sure how his first brother felt about the current Robin. Out of uniform, as Tim himself, he liked the kid well enough, but more than once Dick had caught sad dark looks from Jason as he watched the boy mill around in the cave.

He was snapped out of his thoughts abruptly when _30 Seconds to Mars_ ’ “Night of the Hunter” came blasting through the speakers. Taking his eyes off the road, he glared at his brother.

“You said driver picks the music.”

“My car.” Jason retorted. “And I’m tired of listening to _Crowded House_.”

But he did turn the volume down somewhat before stretching out as much as he could. He’d grown taller, Dick noted, comparing the young man he saw now to the boy he remembered. But at nineteen, Jason’s age was still hard to visually pin down due to the effects of both the Lazarus Pit and the resurrection itself and probably other factors he didn’t want to think about.

After a stretch of silence, he spoke. “So who’re we expecting at Teen Tower? Anyone I should actually care about?”

Dick bit back the response that he should care about everyone or something similar. “Garth and Raven are going to be there, but mostly it’ll probably be new people. Conner Kent and Cassie Sandsmark and Bart Allen, Berry’s grandson.”

“Grandson?” Jason echoed.

“Time traveler,” Dick explained briefly.

“Aha. And the other two? I’m guessing this Conner kid is Super-fill-in-the-blank, but who’s the chick?”

“Cassie?” Dick hesitated suddenly not liking where this was going. “She’s the new Wonder Girl.”

He hoped Jason would leave it at that, but his brother frowned. “So what does Donna go by these days? Hey, is she gonna be there? ‘Cause...”

With a surprised intake of breath from Jason, Dick pulled the wheel sharply to the right. Luckily it was that middle-of-no-where area so there were few cars around and no cops to complain. He drove the car to a stop on the side of the road and pulled the parking break. He sighed and turned to his brother.

Sometimes four years _could_ feel like forty.

Jason was quiet for the rest of the drive, and Dick figured the day was pretty much lost. He didn’t try to elicit any enthusiasm from his brother regarding any local sights or attractions. When they checked into the hotel early and Jason dropped on the bed without a word, forearm thrown over his eyes, Dick wasn’t surprised.

“I’m going to go scope out some food,” he announced. “You wanted Mexican, right?”

“Whatever,” Jason muttered.

Lips drawn in a thin line, Dick nodded. “Okay.”

Then he was back in the car and driving until he hit the first plaza with a fast food Mexican place, but he didn’t go in. Instead Dick found himself sitting in the car and fighting an incredible urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. Instead he pulled out his cell and called Tim.

Tim was easy to talk to. He went on about patrol and even school a little when Dick asked. He relaxed against the driver’s seat of the Dodge, switching the cell to the other ear and listened as Tim talked about his friend Stephanie. When the subject switched to himself and Jason, Dick made a face and pinching the bridge of his nose told Tim what happened. The young teen listened for a long while without saying anything until the very end.

“I’m sorry,” Tim was sympathetic. “That’s rough. Did he know Donna well?”

“Not really,” Dick admitted. “He worked with the Titans maybe twice at most. Though I think he might have developed a little bit of a crush on her.”

Tim chuckled. “Insert joke about Robins and older women here.”

“Right,” Dick smiled but then grew somber again. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be with him. Am I supposed to walk on eggshells around him or ignore all the trigger points he has but I know nothing about until I open my big fat mouth?” He sighed for what felt like the millionth time. “Maybe this trip wasn’t such a good idea...”

“No, it was,” Tim said emphatically on the other end. “He can’t stay in the manor forever. Damian at least has school. Jason’s been kind of… stuck.”

“I just...” Dick closed his eyes for a moment, hating what he was about to say next but knowing that it was the truth. “I don’t know how to be his brother. I was an ass and flat out refused to do it the first time, so now...”

“Consider the fact,” the young teen spoke seriously, “that he doesn’t know how to be one either. Or,” he corrected himself, “he doesn’t know how to be the younger brother. He knows what it’s like to look out for Damian, but someone’s looking out for him... someone other than Bruce... that freaks him out.”

“Why?” That was the part that Dick just couldn’t understand. Why Jason couldn’t just talk to him, and he had to get these pieces of psychological insights from someone else, someone junior them both.

“He needs to feel in control.” He could just imagine Tim shrug on the other end. “He has a hard time trusting people, and can you seriously blame him after everything?”

No, of course he couldn’t. Jason had been through more in his short nineteen years than most people could even begin to fathom and he had been alone for most of it. Logically Dick knew that this trip, getting back out in the world, was an important part of the healing process, but in moments like this he understood why Bruce felt that overwhelming urge to just keep Jason at the manor. Keep him safe.

“You’re fine,” Tim assured him. “Do what you’re doing, and it’ll all work out.”

“Yeah?” Dick snorted. “How do you know?”

“Because you _are_ a good brother,” Tim replied with conviction. “And he needs you. He told you as much, didn’t he?”

“That was a moment of post-massive blood loss weakness.”

“Those tend to bring out the most honesty in people.”

Dick laughed. “Especially us. Alright, kid, I’ll let you go. Thanks for the pep-talk.”

“Any time,” he heard the smile in Tim’s voice. “Oh, when do you think you guys will get to San Francisco? I want to fly in.”

“I’ll let you know when we get closer.” Dick promised. “We’re not exactly driving straight through everything, so it might be another week or so.”

“Sure, no worries.”

When he returned to the hotel room, Jason was up and looking a little more alert than before. The tablet was angled at forty-five degrees on the stand and a movie or show was playing, but he turned it off as soon as Dick entered. He held up a paper menu like it was a peace offering.

“I found a good Mexican food place, if you want to get out of the room,” he declared.

Jason was easy to win over with food, and while he wasn’t Mr. Sunshine when they left the hotel, he instantly perked up when they got to the small restaurant and the waiter set a complementary bowl of tortilla chips and salsa on the checkered green table cloth in front of them. His younger brother happily dug in, and Dick immediately ordered a side of guacamole. Another waiter came a few minutes later with a cart piled with bowls full of all kinds of ingredients and one giant bowl of fresh avocados.

“Mojitos?” Jason raised a brow expectantly as the man began to mix the guac right in front of their table.

“The virgin kind.” Dick shot him a nice-try look. “You’re nineteen, Jay, and I’m not participating in the corruption of minors.”

“You’re not p...” Jason repeated with a frown, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Nevermind. You get hammered. I’ll drive.”

To make Jason happy, Dick did end up ordering a mojito. And then another. And another. By the fourth he thought that maybe it was a good idea for Jason to do the driving after all. He told him this seemingly profound thought at which point Jason put his head down on the table and laughed.

“Ya think?” he quirked a smile when he finally looked up. “‘Cause I’m thinking we should walk to the hotel, pick up the car in the morning, and maybe hang out here the rest of tomorrow. On account you being hung over most likely. Wouldn’t want you to puke all over my car.”

Dick gave a very offensive-sounding snort. “That piece of crap?”

“I’m going to let that one go since you reek.” His brother waved the waiter over. “Can we get some water over here?”


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next two chapters are going to be full of pop-culture references. Character's opinions are their own... well, those I think would be in-character for them anyway. I figure pop culture is a good bonding point for otherwise very different family members. Also how are the flashbacks working out for you guys? They won't continue throughout the whole fic, but there were so many little stories I wanted to tell in that 6 months gap between the two fics that I figured this is a good way to do it. Also if you're tracking this fic on AO3, I'll be adding character tags as they enter the story. Enjoy and please review!

Tim would have never voiced it aloud, but a part of him knew he was one of the more stable members of the Bat-clan, and he suspected it was because for him, being Robin had always been a choice. Yes, technically it was true for Dick and Jason as well; Bruce had never forced either into the roll, but then the billionaire himself was not forced to be Batman. For the three of them, the masks had been put on for one reason or another but ultimately it had come down to managing personal demons.

And Tim? Tim didn’t really have those issues, at least not nearly to that extent. Becoming Robin had been a choice made purely out of desire to help Batman, and he loved it, but he was perfectly okay with doing normal civilian things. His parents had been away frequently when he was younger, but now after the murder of Janet Drake, his own temporary paralysis and recovery, Jack seemed determined to spend as much time with his son as possible. The fact that he knew the Robin aspect of Tim’s life had been terrifying at first. His father had been anything but thrilled, but ultimately it worked out.

More or less...

So when Dick and Jason went off on their cross-country bonding road trip, and Bruce spent a large amount of time at Watchtower on a JLA mission, Tim hadn’t minded the time off to just be on his own, get ahead on homework, and do something as pointless as going to a game with his dad. Then, of course, there was this...

The bedroom window rattled a little, but Tim merely raised a quizzical brow at it. He was on the second floor and it was barely dusk outside. Closing the multi-variable calculus text book over his notepad, he rose and went to the window. Pulling up the sliding section of the pane, he tried not to roll his eyes as he helped the boy onto the ledge.

“I have a front door, you know,” he told Damian.

“I know that,” the eight-year-old glared.

“But you’re ‘son of Batman’ so you think this way is cooler,” Tim grinned. “Come on in.”

Damian hopped onto the floor tracking some twigs and dry leaves in his wake. Tim tried not to wince at the thought of the housekeeper asking questions. He made a mental note to clean it up later, and simultaneously the boy kicked off his shoes. Localized mess aside, he was particular about not wearing the shoes in the house. He wondered if it was a product of the culture he’d been raised in so far.

“Does...” Tim was about to ask if Bruce knew where his eight-year-old was but then remembered that Batman was with the JLA tonight. “Did you tell Alfred you were planning on coming here?”

“No,” the boy looked up at him. “I’ve never had to tell the servants were I went before.”

Tim felt like slapping his forehead but resisted. Another culture or status issue. Damian _knew_ Alfred was more than just a butler, but old habits were harder to break. Tim went back to his desk and pulled out his cell. He tossed it to the boy.

“Call Alfred.” He told him. “Because if you don’t, he’ll worry, and then he’ll call your dad, and then _he’ll_ worry. See how that works?”

Damian didn’t look happy about it, but he dialed the manor anyway. It only took moment before he hung up again, but Tim felt a little less like a kidnapper. The boy unceremoniously tossed the phone back on the bed, trotted over to Tim’s desk chair and easily hopped up, sitting cross legged. Again Tim tried not to be annoyed.

“So what’s up?” He sat down on the bed. “Shouldn’t you be... I don’t know... doing homework or something? It’s a school night.”

“I do homework _at_ school.” Damian told him. “Classes are boring. My tutors covered all that a long time ago. I really don’t see why Father makes me go to school at all when I can just read at the library at home.”

“He makes you go so you can grow up to be a socially healthy, well-rounded individual.” Tim said pleasantly, though he couldn’t help but feel the slight hypocrisy of it. Bruce was more than comfortable navigating Gotham’s – and national – social circles, but it was largely due to his acting skills. “Don’t you want to be around kids your own age?”

“No,” Damian all-but pouted. “When are Jason and Dick coming back?”

“Depends on if they’re driving or flying back. Anywhere from a couple weeks to a month and a half or so.”

That response appeared to make the boy even less happy. Considering Jason was the person Damian was closest to, his reaction wasn’t surprising. Tim remembered being that age when a month seemed like forever.

“Look, I know you wish Jason was here and that I'm not your favorite person in the world, but how about you hang out with me?” He offered. “At least till your dad gets back. Want some snacks? I can still make a killer strawberry milkshake, and I was going to get an early start on a _Star Wars_ weekend marathon.”

It was a little lie, but he had the time and _Star Wars_ was a good default, especially since he suspected it would be a new experience for Damian. That suspicion was confirmed when the boy frowned and asked.

“What’s _Star Wars_?”

“Only the greatest sci-fi movie series of all time.” Tim grinned. “And I’m making you watch them in chronological order. If Dick and Jason tell you the new series is bad, don’t listen to them. You can’t appreciate the whole mythology as much if you don’t watch them. It’s just the main actor in episodes II and III that sucks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Damian glared at him, a sure sign that he was embarrassed about not knowing something but trying to hide it with scorn.

“That’s fine.” The teen was undeterred. “You’ll love them. I promise. Want to go down for that milkshake now?”

Sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop, Jack Drake only raised a brow when two boys instead of one came down the stairs. He knew who Damian was of course. The boy’s face has been plastered on every newspaper across the country for weeks after he and Jason made it home. Speculation was rampant, especially on the question of Damian’s maternity, and some less reputable newspapers printed all sorts of drivel. None of it was ever explicitly baned from Wayne Manor, but Bruce certainly didn’t encourage either Jason or Damian to look.

“Hi there,” Jack smiled kindly at the younger boy, then looked at Tim questioningly. “Are you baby-sitting?”

Damian opened his mouth, no doubt to say something to the effect of he was not a baby and didn’t need looking after, but Tim quickly answered.

“I’m keeping Damian company while his dad is away on... business.”

The last part was deliberately generic, but the pause made it clear that the kind of ‘business’ Bruce was away on had nothing to do with board rooms. Although Jack was on good terms with Dick and coolly cordial with Bruce, the ‘B’ and ‘R’ words were generally not spoken of in the Drake households.

* * * * * * * * * *

“ _I know that look, kid.”_

_Tim blinked. He’d been sitting on one of the enormous metal tool drawers in the garage that had been set aside for Jason’s car renovation. Even now the older teen was bent over the open hood of the blue-black Dodge, wrench firmly clasped in one grease stained hand. He didn’t even look up when he spoke, and Tim fidgeted._

“ _Look? There’s no look.”_

“ _Oh there’s a look. It’s the emotionally-constipated I-have-angst one. I think_ _my dad_ _invented it.”_

“ _He’s gotten better,” Tim objected._

“ _Yeah,” Jason agreed finally looking up from the engine. “At least at home. So what’s your angst? School? Girls? What?”_

“ _Dad.”_

“ _Ah, I know that one too.”_

_He placed the wrench on the edge of the metal shell and picked up a towel to wipe his hands. Tim knew he had his undivided attention now, though he didn’t really want to talk about things he barely understood himself. However he and Jason rarely talked about non-trivial things, so perhaps it was a good opportunity to get some insight from the former Robin. He took a deep breath._

“ _My dad knows about the whole... nightlife thing,” he began. “We don’t really talk about it, but he knows. When I’m on patrol he pretends_ not _to stay up at night waiting for me, but when I get back I usually find him downstairs pretending to be asleep at the TV. I make some noise upstairs so he knows I got home safe_ _ly_ _, and a few minutes later I hear him finally go to bed.”_

“ _And...” Clearly Jason wasn’t seeing the problem._

“ _And then in the morning we have breakfast as usual. And that... sucks.”_

_Jason crossed his arms. “What’s your alternative?”_

“ _I don’t know!” It came out harsher than Tim had intended. He instantly backpedaled. “I mean, I don’t know anyone who balances the mask with family when said family knows about said mask. I never thought I’d say this, but it was almost easier when he didn’t know. Then the worst problem I had was figuring out how to sneak in and out.”_

_Jason was silent for a long moment, lips pressed together in a thin line. Tim was waiting for some kind of deep insight. The older teen had worn the mantel of Robin for over three years. He must have found some kind of balance. So when he finally spoke, Tim was shocked at the words that came out._

“ _So basically you’re bitching because your old man actually cares about you.”_

“ _I...”_

“ _You wanna hear about what your patrol nights look like for me?” he interrupted, voice dripping with angry sarcasm. “I try to pretend I’m asleep, but I know my dad comes in and checks on me and then Damian every single time before he goes out. He reads to him for a bit._ _Then,_ _when he’s gone, I get up and go sit in Damian’s room, because half the nights he wakes up with nightmares because he doesn't know if his dad’s coming back.”_

_Tim was sure his mouth was hanging open. He'd never thought about what it might be like for Bruce's sons. He knew Jason had issues on the Robin front which was why he hesitated to bring it up at all when he was around, but he thought it was getting better. But this wasn't about Robin at all, he realized. This really was about the broader issue of being a civilian with a hero in the family and having full knowledge of the dangers your loved one faced_ _._

“ _I_ _f you want me to feel sorry for you that you're a little_ inconvenienced _by your dad's worry, you're barking up the wrong tree, kid.”_ _His predecessor gave him a look._ _“Put up, or shut up.”_

* * * * * * * * * *

Jason had been right, of course. He had to learn to live with the concern or set aside the mantle. The latter was not an option, but days off like this helped with the former. When he was at home for several nights in a row, Tim could see his dad visibly relax little by little.

Damian thoughtfully sipped his milkshake, his eyes firmly glued to the screen where a young Anakin Skywalker was speeding through the canyons of Tatooine on his race pod. Sitting on the couch next to him, Tim figured one movie before the weekend couldn't hurt. At one point though he was seriously weirded out when the boy turned to him and, completely guileless, pointed at Qui-Gon Jinn on the screen.

“He looks like my grandfather,” he declared.

The teen raised a brow. “I thought you told Jason you never met Ra's.”

“I've seen photos.” Damian shrugged and returned his attention to the television.

All in all, Tim thought it was going well. Damian looked like he liked the movie. Maybe he didn't show all the outward excitement one might expect from a typical eight-year-old's first viewing of a _Star Wars_ film, but then he rarely did that around anyone other than Jason. Tim had another thought that maybe this would win him some points with the former Robin, until he remembered the kinds of things that went on in episodes II and III and suddenly starting with the prequel trilogy didn't seem like such a fantastic idea. Maybe Damian _wouldn't_ notice Shmi Skywalker's horrible demise or the main character slaughtering a bunch of little kids and then nearly burning to death...

 _Yeah, that'll happen_.

“Speaking of pictures,” he said by way of distraction when the credits began to roll on the first film, “you wanna see something super top secret?”

No kid could ever resist being let in on a secret, and Damian eagerly followed him back up the stairs. Tim shut the door behind them and for even more dramatic effect, closed all the curtains. The boy was waiting in the middle of the room while Tim rummaged under a floor board in the closet. A moment later he emerged, holding up a small shoe box triumphantly.

“What's that?” Damian looked over his shoulder.

“These,” Tim grinned, “are how I figured out who Batman and Robin were. I was just a year older than you.”

“Impossible.” The boy crossed his arms skeptically. “My father would never be that careless.”

“He wasn't careless.” Tim sat down cross-legged on the floor with the precious box in his lap. “I was just really good. Check this out.”


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, lots of pop culture references here. I knew that if I did a squeal for “The Changeling” it would have certain elements – in fact decisions I made in the previous fic are reflected here – but the actual idea for the road trip came from a show I got into last December ;) Anyway, plot is coming. By the end of the next chapter you'll know what case Bruce is working on, the time frame this fic takes place in and what's going on everywhere else. As with all my other ones, this story will be from the bat-family pov and will reflect what's going on in the outside world through their eyes. Enjoy and please review!

So maybe Dick wasn't completely off base. White Rock Lake Park turned out to be quiet and peaceful on the late Sunday afternoon, and Jason was perfectly fine taking a nice leisurely walk on the path that ran around the perimeter of the lake. After a few hours, they found a picnic table on the shore. Dick pulled out two bottles of water and some sandwiches, while Jason simply sat and stared out at the lake. The sound of water was enough to drown out the noise from the few other people there.

And suddenly he felt his vision shift, and it was as if he was no longer looking onto the Dallas city lake but another body of water, much bigger and more violent. He was no longer sitting on the bench, but instead there was soil underneath him. The sunset was the same, but it wasn't his brother he was with.

_There's a woman beside him. A woman in a simple lavender summer dress. Her long dark hair is loose as the salty wind blows through it. She's beautiful, Jason knows, but also incredibly sad. She speaks to him in a hushed tone, and though he cannot respond or even make out what she says, suddenly he feels tears running down his cheeks at the sound of her words. Her arm wraps around his shoulders, and he feels warm._

Jason blinked. What the hell was that?

He looked across the picnicking table at his brother, but Dick didn't appear to have noticed his lapse in concentration. He was people-watching, idly taking sips from his water bottle every once in a while. Jason wondered if he should say something but quickly descended against it. Dick had enough reasons to question his stability without encouragement.

“So where are we off to tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“Yeah.” His brother turned away from the passerbys and focused on him again. “Feel free to say 'no', but if you're as sick of takeout and hotels as I am, I thought we'd head north through Oklahoma and into Kansas.”

“What's in Kansas?” Jason frowned and almost immediately answered his own question. “Smallville? You wanna visit the Kent farm?”

“Why not?” Dick shrugged. “We'll get out of the city, see nice people, get a few home-cooked meals, and sleep in some place other than a hotel. Totally up to you, though.”

“No, it's not a bad idea.” Jason turned it over in his head. “Mrs. K's pies _are_ legendary. I assume we're not telling Dad?”

His brother grinned. “He's been over at the farm for dinner before.”

“No way!”

“Yeah!” Dick laughed. “Where do you think Alfred got so many new recipes?”

“Alright, I'm convinced.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. “As long as they don't try any of those well-meaning-but-annoying interrogations.”

“They'll probably just want to know how everyone back in Gotham is.” Dick assured him. “You know the Kents are like... the nicest people in the world.”

“Awesome. Should we call or just randomly show up tomorrow?”

“Eh, let's randomly show up. We can pick up a bottle of wine or cider and some flowers on the way and all will be forgiven.” Dick popped a potato chip into his mouth. “I think the only thing we have to do tonight is get home base on the phone and let them know we'll off the grid for a few days.”

“Sounds good to me.”

When they returned to the hotel in the evening, Jason was admittedly disappointed when Alfred told him that Bruce was up at Watchtower, but he was downright angry when he found out that Damian wasn't home either by eleven in the evening Gotham time. Hearing that he was over at the Drake house made for little comfort, but Dick was already dialing Tim. Within moments they had a secure video chat system up and Damian's face was looking back at them.

“Hey, buddy.” Dick was smiling, and Jason had to shoulder him slightly so that they would both be in the frame. “What's new back home?”

“Father's away,” he said immediately and Jason didn't miss the small pout in his voice.

“He's at Watchtower with the League,” Jason told his little brother before Dick could chime in with some kind of watered-down version. “And considering he's with a bunch of people he doesn't always like, trust me when I say he'd much rather be back home with you, little D.”

Damian looked little appeased, and Jason wondered for the hundredth time just how bad of a case of abandonment issues the kid was probably growing up with. He got Bruce's control-freak nature and from their talk a few nights ago, clearly something important was going on. But if he'd known their father would be off-world during this little road-trip, Jason didn't think he would have agreed to go.

“Tim's been keeping you company though,” Dick put in. “What've you guys been up to?”

“He showed me his Batman and Robin photos,” the boy replied. “And we watched _Star Wars_. It was good.”

“Which _Star Wars_?” Jason's brow furrowed.

“The first one.”

“That doesn't help, kiddo.”

“The one with the boy and the pod racer.”

At that, Jason turned sharply towards Dick and glared. “ _Your_ Robin is corrupting _my_ little brother!” He turned back to the computer and Damian's image on the screen. “Repeat after me, D: the prequel trilogy sucks. And don't you dare tell me you want to be Anakin Skywalker.”

“Why not?” the boy asked earnestly. “I thought he was cool.”

“That's it!” Jason threw up his hands dramatically. “I'm coming back to Gotham.”

“Really?” Damian looked genuinely excited for the first time in the conversation.

“We'll be back in a bit, Damian.” Now it was Dick's turn to throw him a good-job-Jay look. “You might not be able to get in touch with us for a few days while we're in Kansas, but we'll call again as soon as we have a good signal. Save the original trilogy for us, okay? ”

“And remember we still have _Lord of the Rings_ to get through,” Jason added.

Reading to Damian had been something he'd begun back when he'd first met the boy while a captive in one of the al Ghul Eastern European bases. It mostly came as the only activity Jason could think of to do with the kid. There was no computer or television he could find in the mansion, but the library rivaled that of Wayne Manor, and though he was many grade levels ahead of his peers, like most kids, Damian liked to be read to. Jason remembered looking up at the massive bookshelves and not believing that with all the tomes in a multitude of languages – only a fraction of them English – there wasn't even a single copy of Sherlock Holmes.

He'd been overjoyed to find an old beat-up paperback of _The Hobbit._ Jason swore to himself if he saw another book in that boy's hands that weighed more than he did, he'd find Talia and tell her how he really felt about her _amazing_ parenting style. While Damian was at first resistant to the _children's_ story, Jason had convinced him to give it a shot and it had been smooth sailing from there save for one thing...

* * * * * * * * * *

“ _We need a copy of_ The Hobbit _,” Jason declared standing in the doorway of his father’s study._

_Damian loitered a few steps behind him, still not entirely comfortable in Bruce’s presence. He may have been the only biological child, but after only a week at the manor there was clearly a long way to go._

_Bruce, at the moment standing by his own book case, blinked. “I read that as a kid.”_

“ _Yup, and we were just about to find out what the dragon’s weakness was when,” Jason thought of the gentlest way of phrasing things was, “we lost the book. Ergo we need another one 'cause Smaug ain't slayin' himself.”_

“ _It's...” their father actually looked a bit uncomfortable. “It's up in the attic.”_

“ _Ah.”_

_The attic was the antithesis of the cave._

_Most of Bruce's things childhood items – toys, children's books, games, etc – had been migrated there shortly after the Wayne murders. It was a place Jason ventured once when he first arrived at the manor, but Dick had warned him away from it after that. Impulse told Jason to do the opposite, but the look on Bruce's face when he found out was enough for Jason not to repeat the venture._

_Damian, quick to pick up on the tension in the room, looked to him. “What's in the attic?”_

“ _Narnia,” Jason replied in the same tone he'd used when he told Damian kids came from the circus. His brother blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “Oh, you're kidding! You see?” He turned to their father. “No classical education whatsoever.”_

“ _I had classical education.” Damian objected. “I read the Odyssey in ancient Greek.”_

_Jason felt his face twitch. “Dad...”_

“ _Okay,” Bruce held up both hands in placation. “I'll... see if I can find my copy. If not, we'll go into the city and pick up some books.”_

* * * * * * * * * *

 _Give Dad credit_ , Jason thought bemused. _He actually braved the attic for us._

After he and Damian had finished reading all about Bilbo Baggins, it was their father who had started on _Lord of the Rings_ with him. For a book that was all about wraiths and generally non-eight-year-old-friendly stuff, Jason figured it was still a good transition point. He'd sat in on a few of their early scions, but when the car came he used fixing her up as an excuse to deck out. It wasn't that he didn't like the book or was really ever pressed for time, but Jason wanted them to bond without looking to him all the time. He'd only agreed to go on this road trip after he was sure both father and son would be okay without him.

He felt better after talking to Damian and less like he was abandoning the kid by being electronically unreachable. Dick was driving again when they left Dallas, but that was fine with him. There was nothing to see for miles as they crossed into Oklahoma, so Jason pulled out the tablet and ear buds and thanked some higher power that he didn't get car sick. He had six more seasons to get through.

Dick, never one for long stretches of silence, gave him a sideways look. “Should I even ask?”

“What?” He pulled out the left bud.

“Do I want to know what you're watching?”

“Rounding out season three of Supernatural,” Jason replied without skipping a beat.

Dick laughed. “Supernatural? Seriously? Is that show still on?”

“Yeah, it's great!” he grinned. “There's a cool car, lots of action, some blood and guts and repressed emotions. You know, things we can all relate to. Oh, and one of the main characters is about to be dragged off into hell, but I'm pretty sure he'll be back. There are at least six more seasons.”

“I... vaguely know that.” Dick admitted.

“Cool,” Jason nodded once, put his ear bud back in, but paused before hitting play. He took it out again. “And just so we're clear, I’m Dean and you’re Sam.”

Dick snorted, barely bothering to take his eyes off the long stretch of road to give Jason a weary look, but he played along. “Explain to me why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He paused, because, yes, it _was_ that obvious. When his brother didn't answer, Jason helpfully supplied: “I’m the moody volatile one who won’t talk about his feelings and covers up everything with sarcasm, and you’re… the other one.”

“I’m older than you,” Dick pointed out reasonably, but he was fighting a smile.

“Well, I’m not playing this game with Damian,” Jason frowned. “You know what happens in the first episode? The kids’ mother gets killed by a freakin’ demon. You know how? She burns to death. I’m thinking it might be just a tad disturbing for an eight-year-old who still thinks the same thing happened to his mom.”

Now there was a few real moments of quiet, all playful humor suddenly sucked out of the car. He had shared with Dick and Bruce that Talia had not only survived the fire that had allowed him to escape with Damian, but that she had indeed set the blaze to give herself deniability. That was all well and good, but Damian still thought his mother was dead, a necessity that Dick and Jason especially had trouble swallowing, no matter what they thought of the woman.

“Maybe the solution,” the older man finally suggested, “is to get into pop-culture shows that are not as gory and violent. Haven’t you had enough of that?”

“Something age appropriate for an eight-year-old,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Maybe Barney or Teletubbies. Talk about disturbing.”

“Jay, he’s eight, not four.”

“Hey, I told you I was the moody sarcastic one.”

Another moment of silence followed, and Jason was just about to go back to the tablet, but then Dick smirked.

“What?” He looked back at him.

“Tim,” his brother said simply. “Tim is Sam.”


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where you find out one of the two canon events I'll be using for the background of this story. Also Jason’s dream/vision from last chapter was not about Donna. Sorry, guest reviewer. That scene was taken from something canon. More in the author's end note. Enjoy and please review!

“You boys should have called ahead!”

Mrs. Kent greeted them literally with open arms. Dick hugged her back enthusiastically and shook hands with Jonathan Kent when the man stepped out onto the porch right behind his wife. Jason was still closer to the car, a wrapped bottle of cider in one hand. Again, the parallels between himself and Damian were not lost on the youth. He wasn’t exactly hiding behind his big brother… but it was close.

“Call it a family habit,” Dick was grinning as Jason stepped up next to him. “We love the element of surprise and all. But just to prove we weren’t _really_ raised in a cave…” He pulled out the bouquet and presented it to Martha.

“You're so sweet, Richard.” She smiled and took the flowers. Then she looked past Dick at him. “And you must be Jason. It's so good to finally meet you. Come inside, both of you. I just put the roast in the oven.”

Jason followed, set a little bit more at ease when Jonathan affectionately patted him on the back and closed the door behind everyone. If there was a quintessential country farm kitchen, he had no doubt that it was this one. Everything was so... the only word that Jason could think of was 'quaint'... down to the rough wooden table and chairs to the obvious-handmade needlework.

In some way it reminded him of the little Eastern European inn he and Damian stumbled on after the fire that lead to their escape. Jason pushed the memory aside.

“I smell peach,” he declared indicating the towel-covered pie in the middle of the table. Jason could practically feel the heat rising off of it.

“Not until after dinner,” Mrs. Kent warned sternly.

“Oh, we know the rules,” Dick flashed her his most charming smile. “We live with Alfred.”

“That man is a saint,” Jonathan filled a vase with water at the sink and set it in front of his wife so that she could put the bouquet. “How is he?”

“Still holding our crazy house together.”

“And your father?” Martha looked at Jason this time, her expression warm and encouraging.

“He's...” Jason tried to find something other than it's-complicated to say.

“He's a lot better since Jay and Damian got home,” Dick came to his rescue.

“That's right.” Jonathan reached up to the pantry to pull out a stack of plates, and Jason quickly went to help the old man. He nodded his thanks and the two of them walked back to the table. “Clark told us about the new little one. And everything you did to bring him home.”

“Dad doesn't gossip,” Jason said a little defensively. There was an image in his head of Bruce sitting around a table at Watch tower with the other League members discussing their family that looked so utterly wrong he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Dick gave him a look, but luckily the Kents didn't seem to notice.

“Of course not.” Martha assured him. “Clark simply asked if there was any truth to what was printed in the papers. Bruce said 'no', gave him the general story, and everything was left at that. We know how private your father is, Jason. We respect it.”

The teen felt his cheeks redden a bit. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jonathan assured him. “Sit down and tell us more about your new little brother while that roast finishes cooking.”

That immediately brought a smile to Jason's face. He was always proud of Damian and was more than happy to tell them all about how at eight years old, the boy was fluent in at least five languages he knew of and how despite growing up with a fancy palate, he loved it when they made hamburgers on the home barbecue. The Kents listened with knowing smiles.

“Do you have any pictures?” Martha asked. “Those black and whites in the papers don't do anyone justice.”

Jason looked at Dick, who nodded. “I think I we have a few on our phones. Jay, wanna go grab the tablet so we can transfer them over on a bigger screen?”

After a few minutes of fiddling with USB cables, batting hands away, and trying to find a good way of explaining to Mr. Kent how the 'magic screen' works, they finally put threw a few family photos in a folder and propped it up on the table. Jason swiped his finger across the screen every few seconds to scroll the pictures, pausing whenever someone pointed out a particularly interesting photo.

“Was this a family function?” Martha inquired about a photo of their first outdoor lunch in the gardens behind Wayne Manor. “And is that your father smiling?”

“Yeah,” Dick grinned. “Getting that picture was like hunting skittish animals; you have to be patient and catch them unawares.”

“He doesn't ask, so we don't tell.” Jason nodded in agreement. He continued scrolling until they reached a series of photos of Damian exploring his new room. He looked at Dick. “Did you just follow him around with a camera all of that day?”

His brother shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Handsome fellow.” Jonathan adjusted his glasses. “Does he look like your dad? I can't quite tell with these lenses.”

Dick replied with a “Yes” immediately, and Jason opened his mouth but then paused. Everyone said Damian looked like their father, but then a lot of people did so without really paying attention or, worse, because they wanted something from Bruce and were trying to suck up. He looked at the picture again, squinting.

“He really doesn't,” he muttered mostly to himself, but then felt all eyes suddenly fall on him. Jason sighed. “Well, he doesn't. He's got Dad's eyes, his hair... kind of. Everything else... that's all his mom with a shade lighter skin tone.”

Dick was looking back at him, and God damn it but how Jason hated that look, the one that once again seemed like it dripped with pity. It seemed like everyone – Dick, Alfred, even his dad – gave him that same look whenever the topic of Talia came up. Like it wasn't just Damian who had been abandoned...

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

_Even in his half-asleep state, Jason heard the door softly swish open. His eyes slowly opened. Momentarily disoriented by a room not his own, he quickly remembered that he'd been reading to Damian and concluded that they must have both fallen asleep. The index finger of his left hand was still wedged between the pages as a bookmark while the boy's head rested on the bicep of his outstretched right arm. Damian was sound asleep._

_The door whose opening had initially woken him was slowly closing shut again, but Jason's vision cleared enough to catch a glimpse of the tall broad silhouette. He rose an inch, careful not jostle Damian too much._

_“_ _Dad?”_

_There was a pause in the doorway, but then it opened again and their father took a step inside._

_“_ _I didn't mean to wake you.”_

_“_ _'s okay.”_

_Jason carefully closed the book, put it on the nightstand, and detangled himself from his little brother. Damian made a small grunt of disapproval, but buried his face in the pillow and was asleep again instantly. The teen slid out of the bed and tucked the sheets around the boy before following Bruce into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him._

_“_ _Sorry,” he said. “We were reading. Must have lost track of time.”_

_Bruce smiled. “Slay that dragon yet?”_

_“_ _Yup,” Jason grinned then, noting his father's still-house attire, frowned. “What time is it, anyway? Are you going out on patrol?”_

_“_ _Not tonight,” Bruce confessed. “I... need to talk to you.”_

_“_ _This sounds ominous.”_

_His frown deepened, and for the first time Jason noticed the two envelopes in his father's hand. One had been opened, a peace of cream-colored paper was peaking out, while the other appeared to be still sealed. Bruce gestured with his head towards his study, and Jason followed. His father closed the door firmly behind him once they were both inside then wordlessly handed Jason the unopened envelope._

_Jason flipped it over, but there were no addresses; no return and not even one for it to be sent to Wayne Manor. It had been delivered personally, he realized, and judging by the elegant script in the center that spelled his own name, Jason knew exactly who had brought it._

_“_ _Is this a joke?” It was all Jason could do not to let his anger boil over and crush the paper in his hand._

_“_ _No.” His father held up his own letter. “I got one, too.”_

_“_ _Did she send one to Damian?” Jason demanded, even though he already knew the answer._

_“_ _No.”_

_“_ _Then you can have mine back.” He angrily tossed the unopened envelope on his father's desk. “Read it. Burn it. I don't care.”_

_“_ _Jason...”_

_“_ _No, how messed up is this?” He felt his voice rise and fought to keep it in check. Damian was sleeping just a few doors away. “I get that she wrote to you, but why me? I'm nobody. What could she possibly have to say to me when she won't even let her own son know she's alive.”_

_“_ _You're not nobody,” Bruce said severely, then his face softened. “_ We're _choosing not to tell him, Jason. She left that choice to us – to me – and we're making it every day. I don't know that it's right...”_

 _“_ _It's not!” The teen interrupted. “But what good is it to tell him if she's not here? Is he_ supposed _to know his mom abandoned him?”_

_“_ _I don't think that's what she did. From what you told me...”_

_“_ _Why are you defending her?!” Jason exploded. “I don't buy that bullshit about Ra's for a second. It's not like she's never gone against him before. It's not like we haven't fought him before. If she wanted to be here, she'd be here.”_

_“_ _She's doing what she thinks is best for Damian. For both of you, really.”_

_“_ _Oh, no.” Jason was on his feet in a second. “Don't you_ dare _drag me into this, old man. Don't pretend I figure in any way into her twisted logic. I was a means to an end, a way of getting Damian to Gotham. Nothing more than that.”_

_He took a deep breath, sending one last glare at the offensive letter still on the edge of his father's desk, then stalked towards the door. His hand was half way to the knob when his father caught his shoulder. Jason spun, half-ready to continue the argument, but the older man simply held up the envelope._

_“_ _I won't read it,” he told him evenly but firmly. “And if you want it destroyed, you'll have to do it yourself. Whatever you decides, make sure it's a choice you don't later regret, Jason.”_

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

He was grateful that the conversation in the Kent kitchen had shifted away from anything Gotham and really didn't care if everyone else in the room knew how uncomfortable he was. Jason was perfectly happy to quietly pick at the pork roast and drink the warm cider while Dick chatted with the Kents about Bludhaven and his job, and he thought they looked pleased that he had something as ordinary as a police uniform.

They talked about their own son, and again it was nothing 'super', just stories from the Daily Planet and Lois Lane and other mundane things. Jason thought he'd never heard so many ordinary things about the most powerful being on the planet in his life, but it was clear that to the Kents he was no different than any other son might be to his parents.

He gratefully accepted the generous slice of pie Mrs. Kent put on his plate and took a bite.

“Mmm!” This time Jason didn't have to exaggerate his enthusiasm. “Mrs. K, this is amazing! Any chance the recipe's not top secret so we can bring it back to Alfred?”

“Of course, dear.” She smiled and got up to pull out the paper from her recipe box.

Dick grinned at him. “Good thinking. Maybe we can get him to make it when Bruce is actually home for a night. It's cause for celebration enough.”

Jason grinned back, but Jonathan Kent's brows furrowed.

“Your dad's up there?” He pointed upward, most likely indicating the orbiting Watchtower. “I guess he's probably on the same case our Clark is.”

“I know he's... working with the League on something.” Jason nodded. The last time he'd asked, Bruce refused to say anything, and he'd let it drop.

“They're all working on something,” Jonathan nodded sagely. “Mrs. Dibny's killin'.”

“Wait...” It was Dick's turn to frown, all earlier smiles washed away in an instant. “Sue Dibny? Ralph's wife? She was murdered.”

The Kents exchanged a look.

“You didn't know,” Martha said slowly returning to the table.

“No.” Dick shook his head. “We just knew Bruce's been up at watch tower's a lot lately. He didn't tell us anything.”

“Then you didn't hear of it from us,” Jonathan said, “but... yeah. Clark told us a few days ago when he came to check on us. Far as I know, the whole League's trying to figure out what happened.”

“That's terrible. I know they've been together for... pretty much forever.” Dick sighed. He looked down at his glass, then at Jason. “At least now we know why he's been away.”

“Yeah, I'm sure that's a great comfort to Damian,” Jason shot back dryly. He felt bad that someone was dead, but really, he didn't know the Dibnys. Martha reached over and patted his hand.

“If anyone can get it all sorted out, it's your dad,” she assured him. “He'll find whoever's responsible and will be home in no time. They don't call him the greatest detective for nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Identity Crisis is coming! With my own twists, of course ~_^ Mwahaha! The two letters that Bruce and Jason respectively receive from Talia are both canon. Bruce's letter comes from The Batman Files and Jason's is from the first issue of Red Hood: Lost Days and since that particular issue is canon to the Changeling-verse (Jason’s vision in the last chapter was from that), I thought it would fit well.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually flying out to the San Francisco myself this Saturday ^_^ It may just be for a business trip but I'll try to get some inspiration while I'm there. Also I posted Talia's letter to Bruce from The Batman Files on my tumblr. I'll post Jason's a little later. Enjoy and please review!

Jason was glad he didn't dream that night and wondered if the fresh country air was to thank for that. Contrary to what he'd imagined, the farm didn't smell. It was in remarkably good shape considering that neither Jonathan or Martha were exactly young, and even though he could get a week's worth of chores done in minutes, Clark wasn't there every day. He and Dick had agreed to stay the morning and help out before hitting the road again in the afternoon.

But apparently he'd risen before everyone else, so Jason found himself wandering outside in the pre-dawn light. It was a little chilly in the open so he meandered until he was at the barn. Inside the animals were waking as well. Jason didn't know their feeding schedule and wasn't sure what he should give them, so he simply walked over to the horse stall. A rust brown colored mare lifted her head instinctively and whinnied, unsure of what to make of the stranger.

“Easy, girl.” Jason smiled and extended his hand palm up. The horse sniffed at his fingers and apparently satisfied, lowered her head. “I know we just met and all, but I got something for you.”

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a crab apple he'd picked up outside. The horse sniffed at it again, then devoured it greedily. He patted her muzzle affectionately then picked up a brush and began to comb out the tangles in her mane as she munched contentedly on the apple. The repetitive motion of the brush and warmth and rhythmic breathing of the animal was soothing. Jason could easily understand why some preferred animals to people. He definitely felt that way at times. Dick had been surrounded by animals all the time growing up in the circus, and he wondered if it had contributed to his brother's generally easy-going nature.

 _Little D might like a pet, too_ , he thought and made a mental note to ask their father if they could get a dog when he got home.

The barn door creaked open, and Jason looked over the horse to see Mrs. Kent enter with an arm-full of bags with various animals drawn on it. He tossed the brush, patted the mare, and ran over to take the animal food from her.

“Thank you, dear.” She smiled and wiped her brow. “I'll never say 'no' to some help around here. Don't tell Jonathan. He thinks he can do everything himself.”

“My lips are sealed, Mrs. K.” Jason returned the smile and lifted one of the bags of food. “Where do you want these?”

“Just spread a few handfuls around the chicken coops,” she instructed. “They'll figure out the rest from there.”

He did as instructed, and they worked in silence for a while. The birds, always first to wake, were eagerly flocking to the piles of grain. From the corner of his eye, Jason could see Mrs. Kent attending to some of the other animals. He left the bag of feed propped up against the knee-high fence and went over to help with the goats.

They worked in silence for a short time, but he noticed the silver-haired woman kept glancing over at him. A small smile played on her wrinkled face, but Jason didn't dare ask until she spoke up on her own. She didn't disappoint.

“I can see it, you know.” The words were almost off-hand. Jason turned to the elderly woman and looked at her quizzically. “Your daddy. Right there, around your eyes.”

He froze. It was not the comment he'd ever expected, and Jason didn't mean for the sigh to come out as a scoff, but somehow it did. “There's no point pretending I look anything like him. You know I'm adopted.”

“Oh, I know that, honey.” Her tone was sweet, but strangely not pitying. “We visited the Planet once, you know, back when Clark first started out. Wanted to see this fancy new job our boy got himself. He always introduced us as his ma and pa, 'cause that's what we are. No long-winded explanations there. So after we shake hands, Mr. White says how Clark looks just like Jonathan. They both just smiled and accepted the compliment, and you know something? In that moment they really did look a lot alike.”

Jason smiled as well, because Clark and Jonathan Kent looked _nothing_ alike, but he could almost picture it as Martha told the story.

“My point,” she took his hands in her wrinkled ones, “is that we're more like the people who influence us most. Might be birth parents and might not be. You let your daddy be that main influence, so when you smile, that's his smile, rare though it may be. Doesn't matter if you're not blood. You understand what I'm saying?”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, “don't just assume people are blind or suckin' up when they say stuff like that. Might be that they actually see something. I hear you, Mrs. K.”

“Good.” She patted his hand. “It works the other way, too. Damian's mother: obviously you see something there that you brother doesn't.”

Jason sighed. “You really want me to talk about this?”

“I think you want to talk about it, hon. Just maybe not to someone you see on a daily basis.”

He blew out another deep breath, not even knowing where to begin. He didn't mind talking to Mrs. Kent, really he didn't. It was a little like talking to Alfred except that he knew there didn't have to be any follow-up talks with his father after the fact. But how could he articulate thoughts and feelings he hadn't been about to even get a handle on himself.

Not for the first time, Jason wished he really felt nothing but anger and hatred toward Talia. He wanted everyone to think so, but he'd come to the conclusion that no one was really buying it. What harm could it do just to try to _try_ to say it out-loud?

“It's... complicated,” Jason inwardly cringed at the cliché word choice, but Mrs. Kent seemed to understand.

“But it's not all bad,” she ventured a guess, “whatever it is you see.”

“No.” This time he didn't hesitate. “It's not all bad.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

_Jason knew he was a coward._

_Perhaps a qualifier was in order..._

_He was an_ emotional _coward._

 _He didn't burn the letter as he'd threatened, but nor did he read it. It was tossed to the bottom of his desk drawer where he hoped it would be buried under a pile of other papers and eventually get taken by the same gremlin that used to steel his socks when he was a kid. There was always a slim chance of it being_ accidentally _thrown out._

_Realistically he was pretty sure it wouldn't happen._

_So Jason moped. Down in the cave with a sparring dummy or simply in front of the television. It went on for a solid five days until Damian's first day of school came about, and then he'd actually volunteered to come along to see him off. The kid might have been trying to hide his anxiety about being in a real school, but Jason knew better._

_“I think I'm going about this the wrong way.”_

_From his position in the front passenger seat of the Mercedes, Jason raised a brow at his father._

_“About the preppy school?” he guessed, looking back at Damian's retreating figure. The boy made it half-way up the steps before looking back. Jason waved at him reassuringly. A sense of normalcy was important, and it did appear to help. His little brother raised his hand half way, then turned back towards the main doors of Gotham Academy._

_“Actually,” Bruce pulled back out into traffic, “I was talking about you.” He looked deep in thought for a moment, then glanced at him. “You want to go to the park?”_

_Robinson Park was nice in the crisp fall weather, and Jason's inner child was thoroughly enjoying the crunch of brittle leaves under his feet. He knew a talk was coming. Bruce might have given him space, but he'd only let him mope for so long. But when his father finally spoke, it wasn't quite what Jason had imagined._

_“Did Damian seem... okay to you?”_

_The question threw him for a moment. Jason had been fully expecting something about himself. His father had said as much when they drove away from the school. But Bruce never said or asked anything without meaning, so Jason answered honestly._

_“He's anxious.” He admitted. “Real school instead of tutors... kids his own age... He's not used to any of that.”_

_“Is that all?”_

_“Isn't that enough?”_

_Bruce's gloved hand went to rub the side of his neck, a habit that the teen very rarely saw. It was the equivalent of the way Jason himself tended to rub his nose with the back of his hand. A nervous tick that he almost expected Batman to be beyond. But then Bruce and Batman were not always the same person._

_“I'm afraid I might have been looking at him... differently lately.”_

_Jason's frown deepened. “Different how?”_

_“Like I'm not seeing him.” There was a pause before Bruce quietly finished. “Like I'm seeing his mother.”_

_Jason, who had been bracing himself for... something, felt his insides ho cold. He tried not to think of Talia, not to compare her face to Damian's. But he_ had _been waiting for a talk, so he tried not to tense or flinch, to bury his anger. He swallowed hard._

_“I think you're both doing fine.” He did his best to keep his voice steady. “I think he's in a new place with a new family. That's a lot of changes for such a little kid, but he's trying to do the tough-guy thing. I mean, come on, you know how it is. We've both done it.”_

_He tried to make it sound like a final statement that wouldn't further the conversation. Not that that was going to happen. His father did look like he was thinking something over._

_“And are you still doing it?” He finally asked. “The tough-guy thing, as you call it.”_

_Jason half scoffed, half sighed. “Dad...”_

_“No.”_

_Bruce stopped and took his arm to stall him as well. When Jason stopped, he let him go and they stood facing one another for a long moment as the wind blew more leaves past them. His father steepled his gloved fingers in front of his mouth, looking like he desperately wanted the right words to come to him. Apparently having found them, he breathed out._

_“Please don't think me cruel for bringing this up,” he said slowly, “because you're my son, and I love you so the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But, Jason, the last time we didn't talk... the last time you walked out angry...”_

_Jason's face instantly softened, probably the opposite reaction to what his father was expecting, but at some point soon after his return, the young man had come to the conclusion that his death had possibly been harder on Bruce than on himself._ He _had had the benefit of oblivion and no memories of the years and pain immediately after his resurrection. His father on the other hand..._

_“Okay, Dad.” He put a hand on the older man's shoulder. “Let's talk.”_

_Bruce looked visibly revealed, like a great weight had been lifted off him. He exhaled slowly, again seeming to gather his words._

_“I know you're angry with me,” he began, “for things I have – or haven't – done or could've done differently.”_

_Jason bit his lower lip trying not to think of the Joker, locked away at Arkham Asylum, but for how long? He tried not to think of Tim, the R blazing brightly on the left breast of_ his _suit. His eyes screwed shut for several heartbeats, but when Jason opened them again, his father was looking back at him._

_It was okay._

_“I know,” Bruce was saying, “that Talia is one of those... issues. You think I'm not... angry enough with her.”_

_“I don't know if you're angry at all,” Jason gave a half-hearted shrug, “but, look, it's your right. You two are the ones with the history. Whatever it is, you're entitled to it and you don't owe me an explanation.”_

_“But I can give you one,” his father interjected, “at least I can to try. I'm deeply,_ deeply _... hurt and... saddened that I missed Damian's birth, his first words, first steps. I'm sorry I missed all those firsts, and I'm sorry I wasn't_ rightthere _for your return. And I am under no illusion that Talia could have made all that possible.”_

_“If she wanted to,” Jason sneered._

_“If she thought she could.” Bruce said calmly. “When you're a parent, you'll understand.”_

_“Huh, keep dreaming.” There was no universe in which Jason imagined himself a father._

_But his dad just smiled wistfully. “I will.”_

_The statement, his father's utter faith and belief of the best in him, unbalanced the teen momentarily. Jason cleared his throat, uncomfortable again. “So you're trying to tell me that I don't get that she could_ possibly _have a good enough reason for_ abandoning _her kid, but some day I will?”_

_“No,” Bruce shook his head, “I'm saying that whatever else she did, she gave you back to me, gave me Damian. I wish it could have been sooner, but I cannot be angry at her for that. I'm... grateful.”_

Grateful _... Jason turned the word over in his head then frowned slightly. “Are you...”_

_The way his father was looking at him, Jason wasn't sure if he wanted him to finish that sentence. It felt wrong. Sure, he'd teased Dick about his so-called 'booming' love life – because, really, there was Babs, and his big brother was an idiot – but this was his father and whatever Jason himself felt about her, Talia wasn't just some girl on Bruce's arm at a party for the sake of appearance. He decided on saying the only thing he could think of._

_“I'm grateful too, Dad.”_

_That, at least, was the truth._

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

He helped Mrs. Kent with the rest of the animals, and when they got back to the house, he found Dick leaning over the kitchen table with a large map spread out in front of him. He looked deep in thought and was in the middle of tracing a highway route with his index finger, but looked up when they entered.

“Breakfast will be ready in a bit,” Mrs. Kent announced and busied herself at the counter. Jason walked over to his brother.

“Trying to figure out where to next?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “Honestly the only thing between here and the west coast is Las Vegas and a whole lot of sand.”

Jason grabbed an apple from the basket and bit into it. “And you keep reminding me I'm under age.”

“There's other things to do in Vegas than drink or gamble,” Dick told him.

It was on the tip of Jason's tongue to say 'strip clubs?' but Mrs. Kent was in ear shot. He raised a brow instead, and his brother rolled his eyes.

“As if you're seriously interested in any of that anyway.” Jason shrugged. That was true enough. “Anyway, there's lots of shows, including Cirque du Soleil, and word is the food all around is amazing.”

“Not as amazing as Mrs. K's cooking, obviously.”

Jason raised his voice enough that it clearly carried. The old woman turned slightly to give him a smile. He grinned back, not caring about how transparent he was about kissing up as long as they got a few bags and boxes of home-cooking for the road.

“Obviously,” Dick agreed with a smile of his own, “but still worth a stop.”


	7. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! It's been a while again, hasn't it? I've been so swamped at work and planning my move to Hoboken and my trip to Israel. *thud* Anyway, another filler chapter, but the pace will definitely be picking up soon. Enjoy and please review!

Contrary to popular belief, Batman never hated any of the other Justice League members. There were some he liked more than others, but overall he knew they were just trying to do the right thing. And usually he didn't resent the league for taking him away from Gotham. They knew where his priorities lay and knew not to call upon him for matters that could be handled without his presence.

That was Batman.

Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, fiercely resented any time anyone else took away from his children. He resented the criminals of Gotham that made Batman necessary, and at the moment he even resented his teammates who fought interstellar threats on an annual basis but couldn't solve one homicide.

 _Not_ just _a homicide_ , Batman reminded him, glancing at the note on the front passenger seat.

'I know who your husband is' it read, the 'S' unmistakable stylized.

He was exhausted, mentally more so than physically but couldn't bring himself to sleep at his quarters at Watchtower. He needed the computer down in the cave – there was always a slim chance whoever killed Sue Dibny left clues on Lois Lane's note – but more than that, Bruce didn't want to spend a full day away from home. With his two eldest away and Tim spending most of his time at home there was still one boy running around the manor.

'Running around' would have been a nice change from what Damian was doing. Which at the moment included spinning slowly in the chair in front of the enormous computer down in the cave. He sighed, pulled off the gloves – after what had happened with Jason six month ago he swore he would never touch his children with those – and came over to his youngest. There was no point in reminding Damian he wasn't allowed in the cave by himself.

“You're moping.”

The boy tilted his head at him uncomprehendingly, and Bruce inwardly winced. He was incredibly intelligent, but up until recently Damian had grown up in a different world with a different kind of languages. Many languages, in fact, but none included American slang.

“You are doing what Jason does when he is angry with me,” Bruce said in Arabic and was delighted to see his son instantly perk up at hearing his mother's language.

“I'm sorry, Father,” he replied back in kind. “I was... waiting for someone to come back.”

“I know.” Bruce patted his shoulder sympathetically, then switched back to English. “You've all done that at one point or another. Did you eat?” Damian shrugged which he took to mean that Alfred had tried but the likely answer was still 'no'. “If you give me a few minutes to change, I'll go upstairs with you and we can both get some late snacks.”

Less than a half hour later, they were in the kitchen and he was pushing a bowl of hot farina towards the boy who regarded it curiously. Bruce rummaged in the cupboards until he founds a plastic container of granola and cinnamon which he sprinkled into his son's bowl. His own was generously peppered with shavings of dark chocolate, but Damian was not a fan.

“What is it?” the child asked, pulling out the spoon, blew on the steam, then licking at it experimentally.

“Cream of wheat,” Bruce explained and motioned for him to dip the spoon back in. “It's better if you stir it together.”

Damian did as he was told, tried the mixture, and grinned. “It's good!”

“Yeah,” Bruce returned the smile and took a spoon-full of his own. “It's usually a breakfast food, but I think it's good now, especially coming out of that cold cave. And it has some nostalgic value. My mom used to make it for me like that in the evenings.”

“Did she put stuff in it too?” the boy asked.

“Mhmm. Cinnamon butter.” Damian's eyes lit up, and he chuckled. “Next time.”

They ate in silence for a little while before the boy seemed to remember something. He slid off the stool, ran out the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper. Bruce just barely managed to glance the insignia of Gotham Academy in the corner before it was thrust into his lap. He scanned the letter noting the line at the bottom for his signature.

“A field trip?” He wisely resisted making any kind of comments on what letters from school usually used to mean when they came home with Jason. “Huh, going to the GCPD main station house. What'd you do?”

Damian, not yet very adapt at even joking sarcasm, replied with a straight face. “I asked what they did. The police.”

The man frowned at this. “You _know_ what the police do.”

“I know what they're _supposed_ to do.” The boy corrected sagely. “All the things that _you_ really do when you're Batman.”

Bruce laughed. That was either Jason or Talia talking. “It's really the other way around, Damian; _I_ help _them_ out. Besides, I'm not always around Gotham. Sometimes I have to work with the Justice League, and then Commissioner Gordon takes care of the city.”

“Ah-hu,” the boy nodded, clearly not really convinced. “What are you doing with them now?”

“I'm...” He really didn't want to use words like 'murdered', 'killed', or 'threatened' in a conversation with his eight-year-old son. “I'm helping them with a case. And I hope that in doing so, I make you and your brothers a little safer.”

It was the truth, in as much as he could tell him. Between the note sent to Lois Lane and Sue Dibny's murder, it was possible that the killer was targeting only spouses, but it was just as likely that he or they set their sights on entire families of Justice League members. He didn't think his identity was known beyond the few trusted friends in the league. Of course there was always Ra's al Ghul, but after years of honorable conduct on that front, Bruce doubted the immortal was behind this.

Still, no how safe he thought his identity was, Bruce was actually glad Dick and Jason were somewhere in the middle of nowhere. They were safer away from Gotham until he found whoever was behind this. And speaking of which...

“What do you say,” he tilted his head at the boy, “that after this field trip you take a few days off school?”

Damian frowned. “Why?”

_Because on the off-change that someone does know who I am and would dare come after you, this house is much safer than Gotham Academy._

Aloud he said, “We don't get to see too much of each other lately, and it's my fault, I know. But I'm going to have to check in on Wayne Enterprises soon, talk to Lucias and such. I thought you might like to come with me to the tower.”

“The Watchtower?” the boy tried.

“Wayne Tower.” His father corrected.

Damian looked like he wasn't thrilled. “It's not going to be like last time, is it?”

 _Last_ time was 6 months ago.

 _Last_ time there had been a press conference and a swarm of reporters – Vicky Vale being front and center – outside the main entrance of the tower. It had been expected, and they had a good story, but Bruce honestly could have used with a lot less attention. The boys hadn't enjoy it any more than he had. Damian opted for total silence, standing just a step behind Jason, whose tight smile could not have looked more forced. Dick was probably the only one genuinely smiling, but then there was no reason for him to hide how happy he was to have his brothers there.

Cameras had flashed in their faces, and Bruce remembered mentally thanking Jason for his control because some of those lenses got a bit too close for comfort. It would do no good to give one of the reporters a black eye, no matter how tempting it was.

“No.” Bruce assured him. “It won't be like last time. Just you and me.” Damian nodded his ascent. “Good. Have you talked to your brothers?” 

“Yeah. I think they left Kansas already. They're going to Los Vegas.”

“Really?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. That was... interesting.

“Mhmm. Jason said they have lots of games. It sounds fun.”

His father smiled. About a month after their arrival, Jason had went out and bought a Wii and a pair of Nintendo 3DS bundles. Damian – who had initially called the whole venture 'childish' – had quickly taken a liking to a few of the more dynamic games.

“Probably not like _Zelda_ , Damian.” He told his youngest, and made a mental note to check on them a little later. Not that he really thought Dick would let them get into too much trouble, but unlike in Smallville, they were bound to be recognized in a large city like Los Vegas. He didn't want to scare either by divulging too much about the case, but they should be careful. Maybe it would be enough to just talk to Dick about it...

* * * * * * * * * *

Vegas was almost an exact straight shot west on I-70 from Smallville, about nineteen hours away at a reasonable pace. Even alternating behind the wheel, both Dick and Jason got as far as just outside Denver before agreeing that it was best to stop for the night. They pulled into the parking lot of a steak restaurant around six thirty, deciding that they could pick out a place to stay while they waited for dinner to arrive.

Jason, frowning at his tablet as he scrolled through various hotels, wrinkled his nose. “We should have kept driving. There's probably a lot more places in the city itself.”

“Let me see.” Dick held out a hand, and his brother handed him the device just as the waiter brought out a pair of waters and onion blossom. Jason was happy enough to pluck at the appetizer while he scrolled through the options. Finding a particularly attractive option, he clicked on it and turned the pad back in Jason's direction. “How about this one?”

“Grand Canyon Lodge at the North Rim.” Jason squinted at the screen.

“Apparently it's got some of the best views,” Dick nodded enthusiastically. “And they have lots of hiking trails all around the area. Would be good to stretch our legs after all that driving. Haven't you always wanted to see the Grand Canyon?”

The teen didn't seem convinced, still peering suspiciously at the admittedly large, sprawling lodge. “It looks... fancy.”

“Probably smaller than Wayne Manor,” Dick tried with a smile. His younger brother gave him a long suffering look.

Okay, so it wasn't like he didn't know that money was still a somewhat sensitive topic for Jason. He _knew_ Bruce had more of it than any of them could reasonably spend. He _knew_ that his father would never begrudge him anything, especially not something as seemingly trivial as a nice hotel room for a night. He had no problem spending money on things like video game systems or car parts for the Dodge. And yet...

And yet the games were mostly for spending time with Damian, and the car or parts were not exactly a great experience in comparison to what Bruce had offered and Dick knew that part of the appeal of that particular vehicle had been the need to work on it. Jason's relationship with money was... cautious. You could take the boy out of the hood, but... well, Dick supposed he could say the same thing about himself and the circus.

“How about this?” he offered finally. “You get dinner, I'll get the hotel, and none of this ever shows up on any of Bruce's credit cards. We can charge him everything we do in Vegas, though. You know, for PR.”

“That's stupid,” Jason said in a tone that meant that he knew very well that Dick was trying to pacify him and his attempts at subtlety weren't working. They hadn't grown up together, but sometimes it felt like they had. The teen certainly knew most of his methods. Nevertheless, Jason's mouth was quirked up in a smile.

They ate mostly in silence – Dick with his medium New York strip and Jason wit his rare sirloin – glancing at one of many big screen televisions with various games on. Dick only recognized one of the teams and mentally decided to rout for them. He glanced at his brother.

“The Knights are still in the running, right? We should take little D to a game sometime,” Dick suggested. “When they play the Meteors.”

“Ah, the proud tradition of city rivalries.” Jason grinned. “Sparta had Athens, Gotham has Metropolis. Box tickets to _that_ is something I'll happily splurge on.”

Dick returned the smile without saying anything. Jason knew him well, but there were still some tricks left that worked. All he had to do was make him think it was for someone else in the family, especially Damian, and they were golden.

As it turned out, the trick had worked out nicely. The room was neither all that expensive or even big, but the stone balcony that overlooked the canyon was well worth it. There wasn't much to see now – it was half past midnight when they checked in – but Dick didn't doubt that the view would be everything that had been promised. As his brother had been the one to drive the last five hour stretch, Jason had collapsed onto one of the beds and pulled himself up until his cheek rested on the pillow.

“Shoes.” Dick scolded in his best Alfred voice and playfully kicked at his little brother's feet.

“Not my mother,” Jason groaned into the pillow, and Dick knew he'd be asleep in seconds.

He made short work of the bathroom and was just reaching for the towel when his cell buzzed. Fumbling for a moment – and glad the toilet cover had been down – he finally managed to get a hold of it and swiped the screen lock. A single text message blinked back at him.

_Call me when you can._

_\--B_

Dick frowned down at his phone, the wheel in his head turning. On the one hand a text versus a phone call meant it was probably not an emergency. If it had been, Bruce would have found a way to reach them immediately, not send a text when he knew there was a good chance they were asleep and wouldn't see it till morning. Holding on tightly to the phone, he left the bathroom and after checking that Jason was sound asleep, quietly exited their room.

Once outside on the stone patio, he dialed the return number. There was a moment of irregular beeps as the call was routed, and when Bruce finally picked up, Dick wasn't surprised that his voice sounded slightly distorted. The cowl had that effect.

“I thought you'd be resting.”

Dick chuckled. Straight to the point. “Yeah, Jason did a tone of driving so he went of to sleep first. I was about to turn in but since I'm still awake... what's up?”

There was a pause, a clear sign Bruce was debating what to say to him. “Have you heard about Susan Dibny?”

The young man wondered if there was any point in pretending he hadn't, but quickly changed his mind. “The Kents told us.”

“It's not just her anymore.” Bruce's voice at the end of the line sounded grim. “Lois Lane received a threat as well a few hours ago.”

“Damn...” He had to sit down on the ledge. “Do you have any leads?”

“Nothing concrete,” the older man admitted. “I don't even know if this person is targeting spouses or whole families of League members, but, Dick, I want you to be especially careful. Both of you.”

Dick bit his lower lip. “Should we head back home?”

“No.” The immediate response surprised him. “It's better if we're not all in Gotham. I'll make sure Damian and Tim are safe. The two of you should be fine where you are. Have you reached Los Vegas yet?”

“I'm surprised you don't have us tracked within a foot radius,” Dick quipped. “We stopped in Denver for the night. Probably be in Vegas sometime tomorrow.”

“Good. Try to be somewhere public until you leave for San Francisco. This assassin appears to want to remain low key. The more people around you, the less likely you are to be targets. Any large club or show or restaurant should suffice.”

“Hey, I can do the rich playboy persona with the best of them,” Dick grinned. “Now Jason... Jason's not a people person, but I'll make sure he sticks close to me.”

“Please.” He definitely heard a softer tone in Bruce's voice. “Spend two or three days in Vegas and then go straight to San Francisco. You'll both be safe in Titan Tower. This killer is not targeting heroes or head quarters directly, and I know the security there.”

 _I bet you do._ Dick tried not to snort. He had absolutely no doubt that every single piece of tech at the tower could somehow or another feed information directly to Batman if he so chose. During his tenure as Robin, he and the other original Teen Titan members had initially meant for it to be a sort of glorified club house, a place to get away from their respective mentors.

That had _not_ lasted long.


	8. Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer author's notes at the end of this chapter regarding the introduction of the new character. Also... what's up with all this snow we're getting here in NYC area? O_o Took me three and a half hours to get home from work today. Oh, well. Enjoy and please review!

His brother was not in the room when Jason awoke, and only a brief glance at the rumpled bed next to the window told him that Dick had slept at all. He frowned at this a little, knowing that he'd still been awake when Jason himself had crashed but seeing no reason to panic, got up, showered quickly and pulled on some fresh clothes.

He found Dick sitting outside at the stone patio that overlooked the canyon. Wooden tables and chairs that hadn't been there the night before were set out, and Jason saw that each held a rolled up cloth napkin, container of various sugar packets, jar of honey, and small cups overturned on white saucers. In front of Dick there was also a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Morning,” Jason greeted as he sat down across from him.

“Morning,” his brother replied, and it might have been his imagination but Dick seemed somehow... brooding. It wasn't a state his brother was in often, but before he could ask, a waiter came over and Jason ordered the same thing plus a side of bacon.

“Coffee?” the waiter asked, jotting down the rest of the order.

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Got any orange juice?”

The man nodded and left. Dick looked at him with surprise. “Did you just say no to coffee?”

“Yeah...” Jason said slowly. “Pretty sure coffee's been spoiled for me forever. Tea too.”

“Why? I know you drink both at home.”

“That's because Alfred imports it.”

“Imports it!?” His brother truly looked astonished, and Jason was glad he hadn't been drinking anything at the moment. “No offense, Jay, but when did you develop such a refined palate?”

“About... a year ago.”

Dick was frowning, and he could tell he was trying to work it out. He'd only been back in Gotham for six months. Another half year prior to that, Jason had just been... When Dick's eyes bulged, he knew his brother had figured it out. The elder leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“That's when you got tossed into the Lazarus pit.”

Jason nodded. “And for about six months I was in that estate in Eastern Europe... with Talia. You can imagine there's a distinct lack of Starbucks 'round there. Plus she had this... I don't know... super fancy coffee from the Middle-East. I hated it at that place... but the coffee was really good. When I got back to Gotham, I couldn't even drink anything else. Anything other than what Dad has, anyway, and I'm pretty sure she got him into it too.”

“Huh.” Dick took a sip of his own brew. “I learned something new.”

Jason's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but his brother's lack of any real reaction left him more than a little confused. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look... kind of out of it.”

Dick blinked, finally focusing on him. “Yeah. I'm just still a little tired.” He offered him a weak smile. “Went to bed after you, and the sun from the window was right in my face this morning so I couldn't go back to sleep.”

“Aha,” Jason folded his arms. “Is there also a bridge you'd like to sell me while you're at it?”

“Jay, everything's fine. Really.”

“If you or Dad say 'everything's fine' one more time, I'm going to find one of the bad guys and make them tell me.” Jason threatened. “They might try to get in a few shots, but those idiots tend to gloat a lot so there's a descent chance I'll actually get an answer.”

“He's just trying to protect you.”

“I get that.” It was the truth. He imagined if the roles were reversed, if it had been Bruce or Dick that had died and come back, he'd be paranoid about their safety too. “He gets to do that because he's Dad so I play along. But you're my big brother. You're _supposed_ to tell me things he doesn't.”

“There's not much to tell.” Dick sighed. “I... did talk to him last night. Apparently Lois Lane received a threat. She's okay, but Bruce wants us to be extra careful.”

Jason remained silent. He didn't doubt that everything his brother was saying was true, but Dick looked so grim that he figured that wasn't all, at least not all that was concerning him. Jason's breakfast and juice arrived by that time so at least he had an excuse for not saying anything. As he'd expected, Dick didn't take the silence for long. He dropped his fork and raised his hand to rub at his temple as if he felt a headache coming on.

“Thing's have been good lately. Really, _really_ good. Little d, and you back, and everybodyactually bring on good terms for once, and this trip... I'm just afraid that...” He paused. “It's _too_ good, you know? We're all so used to shoveling tones of crap, that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He'd been thinking the same thing but was privately surprised to hear Dick voice it. His brother was the pinnacle of taking things in stride. There was no doubt in Jason's mind that he dealt with everything better than all of them combined. Maybe Tim was good at it too, but he hadn't let himself get to know his replacement too well. He supposed even Dick got tired of dealing all the time. Jason couldn't blame him for wanting peace as much as everyone else in their family did.

“Dad'll figure it out.” He said firmly, echoing Martha Kent's words. “It's what he does, and he's the best.”

His brother nodded absently, probably not comforted but not willing to talk about it anymore. There was no point in worrying because there was little they could do from where they were in any case. Both fell back into silence and looked out into the canyon, already alight with the rising sun. Jason, who'd spent most of his life surrounded by the concrete jungle that was Gotham City, had a momentary thought that it was nice to see natural beauty that was so much bigger than he was.

* * * * * * * * * *

With another ten hours to go until Los Vegas and because Dick was running on only a few hours sleep, Jason insisted on driving first. Most of the road was long and empty, winding through canyon and desert. For the sake of his brother's attempt to nap, the music was turned off in favor of opening a window and letting the rhythmic sounds of the drive in. About four hours in, Dick sat up and stretched. Jason glanced over at him.

“You look better.”

“Yup, I'm good.” Dick yawned but really did seem more awake than before. He looked at the dashboard. “I gotta make a call for reservations in Vegas.”

Dick's mouth quirked up in a smile Jason wasn't at all sure he liked as he fished out his phone, but before Jason had a chance to protest, the phone was already ringing. He was vaguely horrified when he heard a pleasant female voice say “Bellagio front desk, how may I help you?” from the receiver. Dick wasted no time pulling out all his well-perfected charm.

“Hi there. This is Richard Grayson. I'm wondering if you might have a room available.”

The fact that he gave his full name first before asking for the room and the light flirtation he was directing at the girl on the other end told Jason exactly what his brother was doing. He made a face in his general direction and focused on the road. He supposed there was no real way to be in Vegas and not be recognized, so as much as he disliked the attention he knew was coming there was no point in picking a fight with Dick about it.

The receptionist was asking some questions in the background. At one point Dick pulled out a credit card and smoothly rattled off the numbers to her. When she asked how many nights he needed, he casually replied that two or three should suffice, making it sound like he hadn't thought ahead or cared much about the cost. _Perfect spoiled rich boy persona..._ Jason didn't really tune into the process until he heard his brother say that there were two people but only one room was needed.

“If they put us in the honeymoon suite, I'm going to murder you in your sleep!” he hissed venomously at Dick, who hastily added to the receptionist to please make sure there were two beds.

“Do you also happen to have any tickets for O?” he asked the girl. The answer must have been affirmative, because Dick's face broke into a grin. “Awesome. Any chance you can set two aside for me? Orchestra seats, please.” Another pause. “Great. Thank you so much.”

He ended the call and turned to Jason grinning. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Not even gonna ask about the hotel. What did we just get orchestra seats for?”

“O,” Dick said, as if that was supposed to explain everything. Jason gave him a blank look. “One of the best Cirque du Soleil shows out there now.”

“Ah, that's cool.” He had to admit that Cirque wasn't nearly as bad as some fancy opera or ballet that he'd been imagining. “Gonna ask if they need an extra aerialist?”

Dick laughed. “No. There will be no tights of any kind on this trip. Besides, I don't want the whole world to know I've actually kept up with it lest someone else make a connection they're not supposed to. It only took Tim one glance at a TV newsreel. And he was nine!”

Jason had to admit he had a point.

The Bellagio was everything that Grand Canyon Lodge wasn't. Jason knew all the blissful anonymity that they had thus far enjoyed throughout the trip was gone the moment they pulled up to the grand hotel and the valet in the crisp clean uniform stepped up to the car. His face was a mask, but Jason thought that he'd probably never seen anything south of an Audi pass through there. He cleared his throat, and Jason rolled down the window.

“Mr. Wayne.”

The valet inclined his head in greeting and held out his palm for the car keys expectantly. Jason groaned but got out, handed over the bundle, and reached into the back seat for his duffel bag. On the other side of the car, Dick was doing the same, but he certainly looked much happier about it as he looked all around the bright lights of Los Vegas with obvious enthusiasm.

Inside, the receptionist – who may or may not have been the same girl Dick spoke to on the phone – flashed them a brilliant smile, and while his brother flirted away with her, Jason took his time to look around the lobby of the hotel. Even if Dick was going to go all out with the play boy personal, Jason saw no reason why he had to do the same especially since his own reputation was probably closer to brooding bad boy than the alternative.

Finally, key cards and pair of Cirque tickets in hand, his brother tore himself away from the girl and the two of them made their way up to their room which turned out to be an enormous resort suite with a fountain view. Dick tossed his duffel on one of the two queen sized beds and rummaged in it until he pulled out a navy blue dress shirt and slacks. Jason raised a brow.

“Where are we going?”

“The XS Nightclub,” Dick grinned. “The receptionist recommended it. Don't give me that face, Jay. The night is young, and it'll be fun. You're the one who said you wanted to go clubbing.”

He had, but Jason was far from thrilled that it was going to be in a place where everyone knew who they were. Correction: _thought_ they knew who they were. Still, he went for his own bag and found a similar dress shirt except his was burgundy instead of navy blue. He was first in the bathroom for a quick post-drive shower, and while Dick took his turn, Jason dressed, put a little cologne and gel in his hair for good measure, and looked in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself.

Damian, who stared back at him from the video chat window when he checked in at the manor, apparently shared that sentiment.

“You look ridiculous,” his little brother informed him seriously.

“I know,” Jason agreed with a heavy sigh. “It's a disguise. What's new with you, kiddo?” Damian told him about visiting Wayne Tower, he laughed. “Try to get some good toys out of Lucias. He always has some goodies lying around. Did you get the Master Sword in _Zelda_ yet?”

They chatted for a few minutes until Dick finished getting ready and waved for Jason to wrap up. Damian pouted, and he gave the boy a sympathetic look.

“I'd rather talk to you than anyone else tonight, little d, but I promised Dick. Say hi to Dad for me, okay?”

He had no idea then how true those words were going to be.

XS Nightclub turned out to be not at all bad, better than Jason had expected. The steep fifty dollar cover charge meant that it wasn't overcrowded, and when they showed their I.D.s, Dick's extra fifty dollar bill ensured that Jason's age was conveniently overlooked and another hundred got them a poolside table without any reservations. The music that alternated between electric, alternative, and even rock was probably closer to Jason's own taste than Dick's, but his brother looked like he was enjoying himself, especially when two very pretty waitresses came over with various plates of appetizers. Jason was glad for it; the morning's melancholy had jarred him more than he cared to admit.

“Would you like anything else, Mr. Wayne?” One of the waitresses, a slender black-haired young woman smiled at him a touch suggestively.

Jason looked up at her, threw caution to the wind, and gave her a crooked smile. “Well, since you asked so kindly... your number would be a good place to start.”

She raised one dark brow. “In the way of drinks?”

“Ah, well, in that case rum and coke will do to start with, light on the rum. After that, if you still don't like my pickup lines,” he jabbed his thumb at Dick who was flirting up the red-haired waitress, “you might wanna warn your friend that my brother taught me everything he knows.”

The girl laughed, high and bright, and went to get his drink, and out of the corner of his eye Jason saw Dick give him a thumbs up as his own waitress jotted down an order and left as well. He leaned back on the cushioned seat, popped a piece of calamari in his mouth, and relaxed. The early start, long drive, and cares of the outside world had all blissfully faded away.

“Alright, I admit it,” he nodded at Dick. “This was an awesome idea.”

His brother grinned back and opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly his gaze moved up past him, eyes going wide for a moment with simple surprise before shifting to obvious excitement. Jason, wondering what was going on, turned to look over his own shoulder just as Dick practically jumped to his feet in his excitement to greet the newcomer.

“Roy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said in the very first Author's Note that some characters won't be shown in the greatest light, not because I don't like them but because it's Jason's pov and opinion? Roy is going to be one of those characters. For those of you who remember my Wayne Brothers fic, Excess of Light, you'll know what I mean. Please remember that this is the Identity Crisis time frame and thus the pre-New 52 Roy. This Roy is Dick's best friend, friends with other young heroes, good father to Lian, and generally has his act together at this point, but his history has a lot of factors that rub Jason in the wrong way and Jason himself is not always kind of understanding to the faults of others outside – and often within – his family. So please don't think I'm hating on the character.


	9. Part IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little longer than usual, but I felt that it'd be a shame to split it up. Enjoy and please review!

It wasn't a secret that Jason didn't have any friends his own age. Oh, he interacted with other teens and young adults well enough, but he'd been too far removed from Dick's group of Titans – and Dick was ashamed to admit that the fault was most likely his own – and he had not yet come to know Tim's companions, but his brother suspected that that was unlikely to bring about any close bonds because Jason hadn't really bonded with Tim himself yet. The fact that his little brother tensed at his best friend's arrival, and Dick could practically see his mental and emotional shields springing to life didn't surprise him in the least.

Jason, for his part, remained quiet, his nod and smile in Roy's direction when the other man sat down might not have been completely easy but it felt genuine enough. Dick reminded himself that the whole point of the trip was to get Jason out of his comfort zone, get him to socialize. If there was any need for damage control, he'd cross that bridge when he'd come to it, and Roy didn't appear to have noticed anything was amiss. On the contrary, he was grinning broadly at Jason.

“Well, well, look at you, Mr. Todd. Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Jason's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't point out that he'd technically been alive for years or that he preferred to go by 'Wayne' now. Instead all he said was, “Thanks.”

“Technically,” Dick put in, deciding to at least fix the latter misconception because it would make Jason happy, “he's Mr. Wayne now.”

Roy raised a brow. “Even better!” Another waitress came over to ask him what he'd like to drink. “Just a bottle of water, please.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick looked for his brother's reaction but the teen remained impassive. No one really drank water in Vegas clubs. Even Jason, despite being under age, had ordered rum and coke, though Dick knew it was mostly just for show. Roy, however, knew better than to even pretend to play that game with his history, and Dick wondered if Jason would notice. If he had, his face didn't show it.

“So what have you been up to, Roy?” Dick asked to divert some of the attention away from his brother.

They chatted amicably for about twenty minutes until most of the appetizers were gone. During that time Jason contributed little to the conversation, but luckily Roy wasn't exactly interrogating him so the atmosphere was relatively relaxed. Dick spoke of a few superficial developments in Gotham, while Roy caught them up on how everyone in Star City was doing. At that point, Jason leaned in a little.

“How'd you know we'd be here?” he asked, perhaps a note sharper than he had to.

“Oh, that. Tim talked to Mia and mentioned that you guys were heading through here on the way to San Francisco. I was planning on checking in on her anyway, so I left Lian with Dinah and flew out.”

“Terrific.” Jason glared at Dick. “Next time, tell your Boy Wonder to keep his trap shut.”

Roy just laughed. “Don't worry, I'm not going to interrupt too much of your brotherly bonding time. Just wanted to catch up a little. Believe it or not, I've seen almost as little of this guy,” he jabbed a thumb at in his direction, “as I've seen of you in the last few years. At least you have a good excuse.”

“Sorry,” Dick apologized. “I've been busy. You know between day and nighttime Blüdhaven. And Gotham on and off...”

“Excuses, excuses,” his best friend waved him off. “The world can live without Officer Grayson, you know.”

“Probably,” Dick quirked a smile. “But girls sure love that uniform.”

Roy pretended to be offended. “Whatever happened to 'bros before hoes', man?”

He hadn't meant anything by it. It was just a bad expression. Dick knew that, but he was also not at all surprised when he heard Jason inhale sharply. Jason, who cursed like a sailor himself at times, just didn't use certain words. He looked his little brother square in the eyes and shook his head slightly.

 _Let it go, Jay_ , he thought at him. _Just let it go._

Apparently Jason got the message. He rose to his feet and nodded at Dick.

“I'm going back up to the suite,” he said crisply, completely ignoring Roy who was staring at him at this point. “Long drive and all.”

Dick nodded, grateful he wasn't lashing out. “Good idea. I'll be up in a bit, too.”

When he left, he exhaled and turned back to Roy, who was giving him a sideways look. “What's up with him?”

“He's... been through a lot,” Dick replied vaguely, not wanting to get into details. His friend didn't seem like he was going to let him off that easy though.

“Yeah, so have a lot of people.” Roy pointed out. “So have you. So have I, but neither of us is that... passive aggressive and antisocial. Tell me he's at least kind to animals or something.”

“That's a bit harsh,” Dick objected, offended at the implication on Jason's behalf. “He'll be the first to stand up for anyone or anything smaller, weaker, or younger than he is. Hell, he even tries to be nice to Tim, and that's probably hardest of all. I wasn't half as nice to him when he... inherited the mantel.”

“Oh, come on. I'm sure that's not true.”

“It is. I wish it wasn't, but the fact is that if I'd bothered to be there for him to start with, there's a good bet none of this shit would have happened. Maybe he would have come to me when...”

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. He hadn't been present for the days and weeks that lead up to Jason's death, but he'd heard it enough times to imagine what the atmosphere in the manor must have been like. During his own tenure as Robin, whenever he and Bruce argued and Dick felt the need to get away, he always had friends to talk to. Jason had had no one.

“I wasn't at his funeral, Roy,” he finished quietly.

“So it's guilt then?” His friend asked.

“No,” Dick shook his head, and he knew that what he said next was true. “I just want my family back. I want to have a good relationship with all of them, Jason included. You should see how good him coming back has been for everyone. I mean, Bruce _smiles_ now!”

“There's a scary image,” Roy laughed. “Okay, I hear you. So what's your advice about not stepping on Jaybird's toes?”

“Safe topics?” Dick shrugged. “Talk to him about his car or ask how Damian is. That always cheers him up. Generally speaking, if you don't say anything bad about anyone he likes you should be fine.”

“I think I can remember that,” the red head nodded. “It's not a very long list.”

When Dick returned to the room about an hour later it was completely dark. Jason was either already asleep or was pretending to be, so he didn't try to talk before getting into bed himself. He shouldn't have been too worried, he knew that. His brother had remained civil, Roy had gotten the message about boundaries, and they were going to see 'O' tomorrow and catch up with Roy around dinner.

So far, so good...

* * * * * * * * * *

Jason was not going to pretend he wasn't happy that it was just going to be him and Dick at the Cirque show. In fact he was so happy about it that when they were recognized by the crowd as the 'princes of Gotham' – which took a whole of five seconds – upon entering the enormous theater, he'd abandoned his usual reserve and enthusiastically chatter with anyone who asked about his brother, the last Flying Grayson.

“Did he ever teach you anything cool?” asked a kid probably close to Tim's age. Anyone younger wouldn't have had the chance to see Dick at the circus.

“You know, he's not really as good as he used to be,” Jason nodded in Dick's direction, sticking to their agreed upon line. “Must be getting old.”

His brother laughed along, and the lights flashed indicating that the show was about to start. They got to their seats, but Dick had to rise again when the show's announcer started off by saying how honored they were to have John and Mary Grayson's son with them. Everyone, including Jason, clapped. Dick bowed humbly, palm to his heart, first to the announcer on stage then to the audience, and sat back down.

“They love you, brother.” Jason clapped him on the back as he settled in again.

“They loved my parents,” Dick corrected, still smiling though a bit wistfully, “and they love the story of the orphaned circus kid who made it. That’s all.”

“No,” Jason shook his head. “It's you. Everyone likes you. Can't figure out why,” he added with good natured humor.

His brother laughed, then cocked his head at him. “You're in a good mood. I thought after last night, the thing with Roy...”

“It's not my job to teach Harper how to live, and frankly I can't be bothered to be pissed off about every stupid thing he says.” He'd awoken with that thought in the morning. It _had_ been a stupid thing to say and Jason had been irritated, but logically he knew Roy Harper wasn’t evil, just repeating a dumb phrase he heard without thinking about what was coming out of his mouth. “I'm going to sit here, enjoy the show, and not waste my energy on him.”

Dick blinked at him in amazement. “That's... very mature of you. I never knew you were such a fan of the circus.”

“I'm not,” Jason admitted. They were unlikely to see anything that anyone in their family or circle of acquaintances couldn't do. “But it makes you happy, so I'm choosing to be happy too.”

His brother was still staring at him wide eyed. “Have you been replaced by aliens?”

“No.”

“Life model decoy?”

“No.”

“Lizard man?”

“No, ass hole! I'm trying to be nice here.”

“I know! It's weird!” Dick complained, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “Can I hug you?”

“Not in public!”

“Okay, later then.”

Jason rolled his eye but otherwise didn't dissuade him. The show was quite impressive, beautifully choreographed and executed with hypnotic music had his full attention on the performance the entire time. When it was over about two hours and a standing ovation later, Jason had thought that perhaps he wasn't just there because his brother liked the circus. Different kind of circus to be sure, but he'd thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless.

He waited near the stage until Dick finished chatting to some of the lead aerialists and most of the audience had dispersed. When his brother caught up with him, he threw an arm around Jason's shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. Jason mockingly glared.

“We're still in public.” He reminded him pointedly.

“Uhu,” Dick acknowledged but didn't release his shoulder. “We did something I like, so now we're gonna go do something you like. You name it.”

“Hofbrauhaus.” He didn't even have to think about it.

“Bless you?”

“It's a German beer garden/restaurant/... umm... Viking hall? Anyway, they're supposed to have amazing Bavarian food and beer.” Jason explained. “Best in the area.”

“Beer garden?” His brother made suffering face at him. “How often am I supposed to contribute to the delinquency of minors in a twenty-four hour period?”

“It could be worse,” Jason pointed out reasonably. “Instead of having half a pint of good beer with you, I could be out there doing something much worse. Like heroin.”

It wasn't a real threat, but Dick winced. “I thought decided to be mature about Roy.”

“Who said anything about him? I'm just pointing out that it could be worse.” Dick didn't say anything, but he looked more bothered than Jason thought he would. “What?”

“I... may have told him we'd catch up at dinner.” His brother looked apologetic.

“Of course you did.” Jason groaned. “Fine, but if I have to deal with Harper again, I want a whole pint.”

At least dinner was going to be good, he told himself as they drove up to the parking lot of Hofbrauhaus restaurant. Live music already playing inside, and Jason saw that the long wooden tables that filled the single enormous room he remembered from the pictures were not too crowded. The huge flags of Bavaria that hung from the ceiling and snaked their way to the pillars added the final touch.

He tried not to show his distaste that Harper was already there, waving to them from one of the tables closest to the open grill in the back of the restaurant. Apparently Dick had texted him the location from the car. His brother waved back, and they joined the red-head on the opposite side of the table.

“This place looks awesome!” Harper declared enthusiastically. “Have you guys seen the size of those pretzels and hot dogs?”

Jason didn't bother to correct him, and when the waitress dressed in a classic Bavarian dirndl came buy, he ordered a pot of weisswursts, one pretzel to share, and pint of Pilsner. Dick added a kielbasa and side of sauerkraut, and Roy ordered a cheeseburger and fries. _So much for something different_ , Jason thought.

“How'd you know about this place?” his brother's friend asked, tearing off a piece of pretzel when it arrived.

Jason shrugged. “Looked it up. I like German food, and people say it's authentic.”

“Jay actually has a base for comparison,” Dick supplied helpfully next to him.

“Oh, really.” Harper looked interested. “You've been to Germany?”

“Yeah.”

Jason was glad his beer had also arrived by then so he could hide behind the first bitter sip. The small talk was making him feel incredibly awkward. He'd never been good at it, but Dick was nodding at him encouragingly. Having spared Harper a few words, he let Dick fill the rest of the conversations. When the entrées came, Roy looked back to him again.

“So does it pass the Jason authentication test?”

He fished out a white sausage from the pot in front of him, cut off a piece, then tried it. “It's about right, yeah.” He nodded, then stole a fork-full of his brother's sauerkraut but instantly made a face. “That's gross.”

Dick tried it and shrugged. “Seems okay to me.”

“That's 'cause you don't know any better.” Jason informed him. “Like with the coffee.”

“Coffee?” Roy asked.

“Jay only drinks fancy coffee now,” Dick put in quickly. “All that travel has broadened his horizons.”

His brother had correctly sensed that he would not want to discuss details, and Jason was grateful. Apparently Harper hadn't figured out – or simply hadn't taken – the hint.

“Was all this travel when you were coming back to the states with your little brother?”

“Yes,” the teen replied curtly. Harper nodded.

“Bruce must be really glad to have you both back. How'd he take it when you told him he had a kid out there?”

Jason's jaw tightened. He hated the way Harper made it sound like Damian was the first child to ever pass through Wayne Manor. Whatever insecurities he might have imagined, their father had never acted like any of them were different. With both words and actions, Jason knew for an absolute fact that Bruce had treated Dick and himself as if they were as much his own flesh and blood as Damian was. He be a little more reserved with Tim, but that was only because the teen still had a living parent.

“He was surprised.” It was Dick who answered. It was Dick who had introduce their father to Damian, Jason remembered, while he was out there on the streets having the breakdown that had nearly cost him everything. “Surprised, but you know how he is. Took everything in stride.”

Harper raised a brow over his cup of apple cider. “Even after you told him who the mom is?”

Oh, but he did _not_ like where this conversation was going. Not at all.

“We didn't publicize that info,” he said crisply.

“I know.” Harper sounded like it didn't matter. “But come on, I've seen pictures of the kid. Plus you two came back together, and there's only one of Bat's ex's that I know of who has access to a Lazarus pit.”

“Dick...” Jason turned to his brother, eyes pleading for him to make his friend stop talking.

“Bruce doesn't want to make this a topic of gossip,” Dick said quickly. “We're respecting his wishes, so that's the last thing I'm saying on the subject.”

“Sure,” Harper shrugged and took a sip of his drink, and Jason almost relaxed until he heard the next words that came out of his mouth. “Kid's probably better off without her, anyway.”

“What did you just say?”

The blood in Jason's veins suddenly went ice cold, and he felt Dick take a firm grasp of his forearm and inhaled in the last bit of effort to control himself. Harper, however, appeared not to have noticed any of it.

“Hey, I know what it's like: I love Lian but sometimes I wish someone else gave birth to her. I'm sure it's the same thing with your little brother; sure, Gotham's got issues but at least he won't be with his psycho mom.”

His vision suddenly went crimson around the edges, and before Dick could stop him, Jason was reaching of the table and had Harper by the scruff of his neck. Several other patrons were looking in their direction now, but he ignored them.

“Pretend, for a minute,” he hissed, “that you're talking about _my_ mother, Harper. And now try saying all that again. I _dare_ you.”

Roy looked completely taken aback, like he had no idea what he could have possibly said to warrant this kind of reaction. “The hell's your problem? Since when are you such a fan of the same lady who kept you prisoner for I don't know how long?”

“She gave me _life_.” Jason gritted out. “How I feel about her is _my_ call. _My_ family. And you don't get to judge _any_ of us.”

If it wasn't for the table dividing them, Jason would have taken a swing at him. Hell, if said table wasn't bolted to the floor, he might have attempted to flip the entirety of it on Harper. All his content from earlier, all thoughts of telling Dick he was _choosing_ not to take anything Roy said personally, had completely disappeared.

The all-too-familiar rage washed over him with such an intensity that Jason didn't even remember getting up and making his way to the parking lot. Once he got to the Dodge, breathing hard, the heels of his palms connected with the hood so hard that Jason was sure it was going to dent. He didn't care.


	10. Part X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess after that 2+ months hiatus before things are picking up. Somehow this always tends to happen with my stories. You may want to reread the 2-3 chapters of the Changeling because the next several chapters of this story will heavily refrence those events. Anyway, enjoy and please review!

_How dare he! How dare Harper even open his fucking mouth!_

He wasn't sure how long he stood at the car, but at some point heard a pair of light footsteps behind him. A hand fell on his shoulder, and Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew it was Dick.

Jason could barely hear his own words. “Don't you defend him.”

“I'm not.” His brother's voice was almost as quiet. Jason sniffed and turned around.

“He's wrong.” He went on looking Dick square in the eyes. “You _know_ he's wrong. It's bullshit. No kid is 'better off' without their mom.”

Dick didn't say anything, just kept looking at him sympathetically. Jason didn't know if he agreed with him. Dick had never been too vocal with his opinion on the whole Talia topic, but he could see that his brother knew it wasn't just about her. He knew Jason's history, knew that he'd suffered three parents who'd somehow abandoned him and worse. Jason imagined that at some point Willis and Cathrine Todd and Sheila Haywood had all thought he'd be better off without them.

Or they hadn't thought of him at all.

Jason sat heavily on the hood of the car, and Dick did the same. His brother was still quiet, apparently letting him do the talking. The teen shook his head.

“I'm still... so angry with her,” he admitted quietly. “Did I tell you she wrote this letter to me a while back? Dad got one too, but he actually read it. I just stuffed mine away in a drawer and try not to look at it.”

“Why not throw it out?” Dick wondered carefully.

“I can't.” Jason shook his head. “She sent it so I know it's important, but I can't read it either. I'm afraid that... that whatever she wrote... it'll make me sympathies with her. And I don't want to sympathies with someone who turned her back on her kid.”

To his utter shock, Dick actually chuckled. “Jason, you are one of the most empathetic people I know. You take everyone's joy and pain and filter it through yourself as if it was yours. It's admirable. I imagine it's also incredibly painful and confusing.”

“I don't understand what you're saying.” He was pretty sure most people thought the opposite; that he was some kind of emotionless sociopath.

“Didn't you say earlier today you were going to be happy because I was?” Dick put a hand on his back. “And now you're defending Talia to Roy even though I know you're not thrilled with her yourself. I don't think you need to read some letter to understand that even though you don't agree with her leaving, you know she genuinely _thought_ she was doing the right thing.”

Jason could do no more than sigh. He didn't have the strength to argue, didn't even know if he should. He was coming down from the high of the rage, and though he was unquestionably still upset, but most of all he simply felt... tired. Dick cleared his throat and looked around as if to make sure no one was watching them.

“Listen, I know we're in public and all, but I'm cashing in that hug now. You look like you need it.”

He didn't even bother arguing with that, letting his brother wrapped his arms around him. Jason had to even admit that he felt slightly better and after a moment returned the hug. Dick patted his back reassuringly. When he pulled back, he gave him a warm smile.

“How about I drive you back to the Bellagio and you can relax a bit?” His brother offered. “You can even keep the car if you want to go out later. I'll walk back. It's not far.”

“I can drive myself,” he objected. “I had like... two sips of beer. That's it.”

“I'm not so much worried about the alcohol as I am about where your mind is.” Dick's brows were slightly drawn together. “Even if you're completely fine, it'll make me feel better. Please humor my paranoia, okay?”

“Fine,” Jason shrugged. “But I don't ever want to see Harper again. I know he's off to Teen Tower, but I don't want to see him till then.”

“Deal.” Dick agreed easily. “And I promise I'll talk to him.”

 _Harper can rot in hell for all I care_ , Jason thought bitterly. It would have been a good night night to catch up with his father, but Jason knew that he could divulge little of what had happened. Talia was still a painful topic for Bruce – he couldn't imagine a time when that wouldn't be true anymore – and Jason had no desire to cause his father pain just to make himself feel better. In any case, as long as he never had to hear anything that came out of Harper's mouth ever again, he'd cool down.

He was actually almost completely back to normal by the time Dick dropped him off at the hotel. It wasn't even seven in the evening, still very early by Los Vegas standards, but neither the card tables nor the bars had any appeal to him alone, so Jason went back up to the room, flicked through a few movie channels before settling on _Die Hard with a Vengeance_ which was only about ten minutes in, then, because he really hadn't had a chance to eat much before the shit hit the fan, ordered room service consisting of a a particularity juicy steak, extra fries, side of barbecue sauce, and an ice cream sundae. It was all very simple compared to Hofbrauhaus, but there was a certain appeal to relaxing with a mindless action movie with lots of good food.

The movie at the half-way point when he saw out of the corner of his eye a light blinking on the still-open laptop. Swinging both legs over the bed, Jason padded over to it and flicked a finger across the mouse pad to wake up the computer. A five minute old request for video chat was hanging suspended on the screen, and Jason saw that it wasn't from the manor, but from Tim. He pressed accept.

“Dick's not here yet,” he told the surprised looking teen in the video chat window without preamble. “You can try his cell.”

“Oh,” Tim blinked. “That's okay. I just wanted to tell him I probably won't be able to make it to the tower. My dad's making full use of my downtime. Got all kinds of activities and such planned for the whole weekend.”

“That's good,” Jason nodded. An idea suddenly struck him then, and he swiveled the chair and sat down in front of the computer. “Hey, you busy?”

“Not really.” The younger teen shook his head. “Homework's all done.”

“I'm sure it is, Hermione.” Tim laughed and stuck out his tongue at him. “Listen, can you do me a favor? Without discussing it with anyone else, even Dick or my dad.”

“Depends...” Tim said cautiously, and Jason knew that while the kid always wanted to be on his best side, he wouldn't be too keen on doing anything that would put him in Batman or Nightwing's cross-hairs. He'd have to play this carefully.

“Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous.” He assured him. “I need some info, and I _think_ you might be the only person with the tech skills to get it for me.”

He described what he wanted and watched Tim's brows draw together more and more. Jason marveled how the teen could look both concerned and intrigued at the same time. His not-so-well-hidden nerd was definitely showing, and Jason planned to take full advantage of it. Well, it wasn't like he was being dishonest.

“Think you can do that?” he asked after he finished explaining everything.

Tim looked thoughtful. “Tracking a signal is easy. Tracking who _else_ tracked a signal... I don't know. It's usually a one way street. I'd probably have to try to hack into the same satellites that the signal ever passed through and see who else accessed them...”

“Kid,” Jason held up his hand. “I know it's a long shot, and it's okay if this doesn't pan out. I just want you to try.”

“Okay,” Tim nodded then asked. “Give me an hour.”

Jason hadn't really thought any further then making the request and even that had come at a whim. He figured that when Tim came back without anything solid, he could go on with this road trip and comfort himself with the knowledge that he'd given it a descent shot. Plopping down on the bed, he turned the movie back on and divided his attention between Bruce Willis and flicking Angry Birds across his tablet.

Fifty minutes later, the computer beeped again.

“Not like you to give up so fast,” he joked when Tim's image came back to life on the screen.

“Does that mean you don't want that intel?” the teen asked innocently.

 _Replacement's getting snarky_ , Jason thought with amusement. “What'd you find?”

“Okay, so check this out.”

The image of Tim disapeared and a map of the continental United States came up. Jason guessed he was sharing his own screen. The map showed four blinking dots. Two were close together, and he guessed they were probably centered in Gotham and New York. The third was clearly Metropolis, but the last he wasn't sure about. Jason squinted at it.

“Is that... San Francisco?”

“Los Angeles,” Tim corrected. “There were a few others in Europe and elsewhere, but I figured you'd probably care more about these. See how they're numbered? That's the order of which that signal was pinged. Number 1 is the most recent and so on going backwards, but even that's pretty old, something like five months.”

Jason studied the map thoughtfully. “So five months ago, someone... tapped into that signal from L.A.?”

“Yup,” Tim confirmed, then his brows drew together again. “Jason... not that I mind the exercise, but I just hacked into Wayne, Queen, Luthor, and a few military satellites. Can I ask now who or what I've been looking up?”

“Something... important.”

It wasn't a false – though so vague as to be completely useless – reply, but he wasn't about to get into it with the teen who didn't even know a lot of the details. Tim, however, was persistent.

“Is it something about the JLA stuff Bruce is working on? I'm pretty sure he doesn't want us involved.”

“It's not about that.” That much was true.

“And it isn't some... bad guy you're running after?”

“No, kid.” Again, mostly honest, at least where Jason himself was concerned. “Pretty sure Joker's still locked up, and I think I learned my lesson on that one the second time around, if not the first.”

He felt a little guilty about manipulating the teen like that, but it had the desired affect of making Tim uncomfortable enough to back off. Jason held up his palms in a gesture of peace.

“Look, I just asked you to look this up for my information. That's all.”

Tim swallowed, his face still clearly showing signs of unease. “That last ping was five months ago,” he repeated. “Chances are, whoever you're trying to track down isn't even there anymore. And if it's as important as you say... maybe you should just talk to your dad?”

“I will,” Jason promised. “When Dick and I get back to Gotham, I'll talk to him. For now this stays between us though, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” The teen nodded much more enthusiastically than before.

He said good-bye and cut the connection. As Jason had predicted, Tim had taken his promise to speak to his father upon his return as assurance that he wasn't going to go off on his own and do something stupid in the meantime. _Which just goes to show that the kid doesn't know me nearly as well as he thinks_ , Jason mused. He was the _king_ of doing stupid shit. At least this time if he was going to go AWOL, he would do so with a clear head and make sure it wasn't for nothing.

Jason straightened, cracked his neck from side to side, then cleared all the screens and pulled up a search of the top ten hotels in the Los Angeles area and several listings of every apartment and penthouse in order of price. He might not be Robin anymore, but Jason still knew how to get into something as simple as a property database. Quickly scanning the names on the leases for the first few, he ruled out the apartment idea, and moved on to hotels.

He was still at it an hour later, wracking his brain for every combination of names, aliases, and spellings. Then, just as he was about to give up on the whole endeavor which was growing more and more unlikely by the minute, a match popped up at the Four Seasons at Beverly Hills. Jason stared at the screen. A partial match... but the check-in date was two weeks ago and the check-out was not listed. Without thinking, he consulted the map. It was under four hours from Vegas to L.A. by I-15 south, then a little over five hours from L.A. north to San Francisco. If Dick drove straight to San Francisco from here, it would take him over eight hours plus. Theoretically, _if_ he went immediately, he and Dick may still end up at Titan Tower around the same time.

Jason thought quickly, looking at the clock. It was almost ten, and his brother could be back at any time depending on whether he and Harper went anywhere else after dinner. The sooner he went, the bigger lead he'd have.

If he was going to do something, he had to do it now.

* * * * * * * * * *

Okay, so Roy and Jason were not going to be best friends any time soon. In hind sight, Dick knew he should have caught that right away. Between all of his brother's triggers and their respective histories and propensities for running their mouths, Dick should have realized straight off the bat that they would be a bad combination. But when he'd doped him off, Jason had looked like he'd calmed down. Even walking through the door when he returned to the hotel around one in the morning, Dick didn't think anything could be wrong.

At first glance the room looked normal. The last bout of rage he had witnessed from Jason was when he'd learned that the Joker still lived, and that incident had left Dick in need of a new coffee table, cups and plates, and a hole in the wall to patch up. In comparison, the worst thing in the room was the room service tray with a few leftovers still sitting on Jason's slightly rumpled but still-made bed.

His brother was nowhere in sight.

Dick inched closer and picked up a piece of paper that had been conspicuously left next to the tray. Dreading what he'd find, he glanced down at it and read. The handwriting was definitely Jason's, and the message was clear and simple.

_See you in Fog City._

_\--J_

In that moment, Dick had the absurd thought that while fratricide was usually frowned upon by whatever gods were out there and society in general, in this case, he was surely due an exception.


	11. Part XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lived in L.A. for three years or so took that drive to and from Los Vegas once. It's a really dry four plus hours of shrubbery. Hope Jaybird has some good tunes for that drive!

Jason tried not to think about the angry phone call that he knew was coming. He measured the time between his departure from Los Vegas to when his phone rang as the amount of lead he had. It was completely dark and the drive through the desert was monotonous save for the different tracks that came on, oscillating between rock, alternative, and progressive metal. His fingers were drumming to Firewind's _Mercenary Man_ when the cell phone he'd tossed to the passenger seat vibrated violently. Jason looked at the dashboard clock. _A three hour lead. Not bad_ , he thought, and picked up the phone.

“Hey.” He was surprised how casual he managed to keep his voice, like he’d just stepped out of the hotel room to grab some snacks from the vending machine down the hall.

“Are you completely insane!?” Dick roared from the other end, and Jason was glad he hadn’t bothered with an earpiece. As it was, he held the phone out a few inches. “I don’t care where you are, Jason. Get back to the hotel right now.”

“No,” he replied. “There’s something I have to do. Alone. But it’s no big deal. I’ll be like… twelve hours behind you. A day tops.”

There was a long silence before Dick said in a completely flat tone. “I’m calling Bruce.”

“What are you? Five?” Jason objected.

“What the hell do you expect me to do!?” His brother yelled. “How could you think I wouldn’t react this way after everything? Every time you pull this crap, something terrible happens to you, and you just want me to look the other way!?”

“You can’t call Dad,” Jason repeated. “He’s busy. That JLA case…”

“Oh, he’ll find time for you.”

“You can't tell him anything,” Jason insisted, now actually a little worried. If Dick got his father involved, he would surely be made to explain where he went, and while he could take a little yelling from his brother, the look he imagined on his father's face if he ever found out about this was almost enough for him to turn the car around.

Almost.

“Just trust me, okay?” he tried, out of having little else to say. His brother wasn't having it.

“Trust you? I’m going to _kill_ you, find a Lazarus Pit, resurrect you, and then kill you again.”

 _Ouch_! That one hit a little too close to the mark, but he managed to keep his casual tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. Are we done?”

He could hear his brother take a deep breath. “If you don't tell me where you're going and what's so damn important that that you're willing to do this to me, I'm hanging up right now and calling Bruce. And no, I can't just 'trust you', Jay. How can I trust you at all when you keep pulling these kinds of shit stunts?”

Seeing that he had no other choice, Jason pulled off to the side of the road. There were no other cars in sight but it was dark, and he didn't want to accidentally drive off into some ditch. Once he got the car adjusted, he shifted the phone to his other ear.

“I'm going to L.A.. Probably going to spend the day, then head up the coast to San Francisco and meet up with you at the Tower.”

“Okay,” Dick was clearly still angry, but at least he was trying to control it. “What's in L.A.?”

Jason swallowed. “I think... Talia might be.”

This time the length of the pause was considerably longer. He knew exactly what Dick was thinking: if he went to Bruce now, he'd also have to tell him who Jason was looking for. And while he might be feeling slightly like a kid of divorced parents sneaking to see one behind the other's back, Jason was pretty sure Dick didn't want to be the one to report it. No one wanted to have _that_ conversation with Bruce.

“Jason,” his brother said finally, sounding much calmer, “if you go straight to San Francisco or better yet, turn around and come back here, I won't say anything.”

“You won't say anything anyway.” Jason hoped he was truly calling his bluff. “You know how important this is.”

“I also know how dangerous it could be!” Dick's voice rose again. “Especially with what the JLA is dealing with now. Did you know that there was another attack a few hours ago? Ray Palmer's ex-wife was almost killed.”

 _Damn_ , Jason winced but held his resolve. “Well, I'm sorry about her, but as far as I can tell that just makes it more obvious this killer's only targeting spouses. That's three out of three now. Besides, you know I'll be perfectly safe with Talia.”

“I wouldn't exactly call being around the second-in-command of the League of Assassins as 'perfectly safe'.”

“It is for me,” Jason said calmly. “She won't hurt me. And, if you decide to follow through on that whole I'm-going-to-kill-you thing, it'll be nice to have someone around who actually _knows_ where a Lazarus Pit is.”

Dick didn't say anything, and Jason sighed. There was nothing he could say that would make Dick feel any better. They were going in circles, and he resolved to end this now.

“Look, my cards are all out on the table,” he said. “You know where I'm going, who I'm looking for, and when you'll see me next. I'm sorry I didn't tell you in advance, but if I had, you wouldn't have let me go...”

“Damn right, I wouldn't have let you go!”

“See? So, tell Dad or don't, it's really up to you, but by the time you or he track me down, I'll be in San Francisco already so you'll be just freaking him out for nothing. Choice is yours.”

There really was nothing more to say. Jason clicked the off button and turned off the phone entirely for good measure. _Let him cool down_ , he thought. Dick would still be angry when they met up in Titan Tower, but his brother didn't hold on to his grudges. Jason expected he'd get another lecture, a set of the usual never-do-this-again-or-else threats, and it would all blow over. He just hoped his dad – or worse, Damian – never got wind of this.

It was part one in the morning, and even though he had only an hour left to drive, Jason decided to stop for the night. He'd already pulled off to the side to talk and here, in the middle of the desert, other cars passed rarely and almost never at night. Jason didn't need anything fancy, and retro cars came with conveniently large backseats. Pulling out a hoodie for a blanket and using his duffel as a pillow, Jason figured he'd give himself six hours of sleep and get to L.A. just in time for breakfast.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dick didn't bother calling back.

He stood in the middle of their hotel room for a full five minutes trying hard to fight the urge to throw the phone in his hand against the wall. Eventually logic and reason of the trouble and time it would take to replace it won out, and Dick simply tossed it onto the bed before sinking down next to it with a sigh and burring his head in his hands.

 _What was he_ thinking _!_ That was the mantra that kept running through his mind. Alright, so Jason didn't exactly sound like this was one of his typical spur-of-the-moment anger-driven escapades. In fact, he sounded perfectly calm and rational, like he'd planned this all along when Dick was pretty sure it had been Roy's comments that had set that particular ball in motion. He tried not to be angry at his friend, but if Roy and Jason never co-existed in the same room again, he'd be perfectly happy with that arrangement.

Dick exhaled and tried to think of something positive in the night's cluster fuck. Jason _did_ sound like he was thinking clearly even if his decisions were severely questionable. He was _not_ going half-way across the world, just a few hours out of the way to Los Angeles, and was planning to go straight to San Francisco after the fact. And, as much as Dick hated to admit it, he didn't think that Talia would harm his brother, if only because she was the one who had actually gone through the trouble of bringing him back and covertly helping him and Damian make their way to Gotham.

At least that was something.

As far as Dick saw, his options were either to take a flight out to San Francisco or call Roy back, let him know what happened, and tag along with him. He rejected the second idea almost immediately. Whatever issues he had with his brother or Jason had on his own, Dick really didn't want external input on the matter, especially since Roy's opinion of Jason wasn't terribly high already. Satisfied with the idea of flying out first thing in the morning, he fell back on the bed and wished for the first time that they were back in Gotham.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the rumble of a bus full of tourists on their way to Los Vegas that finally woken Jason. He squinted at the bright desert sun, rose a little on his elbows in the back seat, turned his neck from side to side, then got out of the car and stretched, working the kinks out in his back. His mind was still waking up, so when he looked towards the east, he didn't immediately note how high the sun was. When it finally hit him, Jason swore, and got back in on the driver's side. He started the car and checked the dashboard clock.

“Shit!”

He'd definitely not meant to sleep in till ten, and there was an hour's drive ahead and breakfast to be acquired somewhere down the line. He resolved that the latter could wait. Maybe when he got to the Los Angeles, he could persuade Talia to grab food with him. Maybe she knew a place with good coffee...

Reaching L.A. was not an issue, but Jason quickly realized he'd severely underestimated traffic on the way to the Four Seasons. He spent an extra hour behind a green Mazda 6 and had just finished memorizing every scratch and scrape on the car's bumper when the traffic finally thawed. His stomach was making obscene noises in protest, but hunger was nothing new to Jason and nothing he couldn't ignore for a little while. He parked across the street from the hotel, got out, and self-consciously straightened his rumpled clothes and ran a hand though his hair.

He felt... more or less presentable.

The lobby of the hotel was so huge and ostentatious that Jason had to momentarily stop in the doors and gawk. It wasn't like he hadn't seen big hotels having just come from Los Vegas. It was just that... well, he hadn't imagined that this is the kind of place one might hide out. This wasn't called 'keeping a low profile' which is what he thought Talia was trying to do. He must have still had a glazed look even when he made his way to the concierge. He man behind the counter cleared his throat.

“Can I help you, young man?”

There was something in his snotty tone and his perfectly pressed suite that immediately told Jason that he a) thought Jason and his hoodie and sand-stained jeans didn't belong in the gilded hotel and b) had _not_ recognized him as Bruce Wayne's son. To be fair, if Jason supposed he wouldn't have recognized himself that way either.

“Hi... I'm... ah,” he cleared his throat. “I'm wondering if I could talk to a guest of yours? A,” Jason wracked his brain to remember what alias she had used to check-in here, “Miranda Tate.”

The concierge – who Jason had mentally dubbed evil!Alfred – remained stony, but he looked down at his computer and began typing. Jason held his breath. He had to fight the urge to crane over the counter when the man stopped and studied the computer. When he looked back up at him, his face was still impassive.

“And what is your relationship to Ms. Tate?”

Was this one of those things like in hospitals where they'd only admit family? Jason swallowed. “I'm... I'm her son.”

As soon as the words were out, Jason realized he'd said the wrong thing. If Talia _was_ here, this man would only needed to have seen her once to know what he said was a lie. They looked nothing alike, and Talia certainly didn't appear old enough to be his mother even if Jason played down his age. Evil!Alfred clicked a button, and the light from the screen disappeared.

“Sorry,” he said crisply. “There's no one here by that name.”

Jason stared back at him, registering almost immediately that the man was lying. He'd checked the records _first_ , before Jason had made the false allegation. If she was truly not here, he would have just said so right away, without bothering to ask Jason who he was. Talia had probably asked to be alerted in case anyone came looking for her, and he'd just tipped his hand. She would most likely be out of the city by the end of the day.

_Stupid, stupid move, boy wonder!_

He supposed he _could_ have reached over and demanded the information by force, but the evil!Alfred was sure to call for security, and while Jason could easily fight them off, causing a scene and getting the police involved was not likely to do any good. He would either come up with something else by the end of the day or go to San Francisco empty handed to face the remainder of Dick's wrath.

“Right.” His own voice sounded hollow to his ears as he turned away from the concierge. “Thanks for nothing.”

He walked back through the lobby, past the hotel coffee shop, and back to his car. It didn't even occur to Jason that he was still hungry.


	12. Part XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this chapter except that, as always, I hope you like it!

The area around the hotel was mostly apartment buildings, small shops, and palm trees lining both sides of the road. Jason walked two blocks in each direction from the hotel, came up with nothing, and thought a drive through the Franklin Canyon might clear his mind. The feeling of being so close yet so far was frustratingly reminiscent of his journey back to Gotham with Damian, when he’d felt diverted at every turn.

Question: _If I was a kick-ass master assassin and my crazy bent-on-world-domination father was tracking me down, where would I hide?_

Answer: _Probably_ not _in a swanky hotel._

 _Helpful,_ Jason thought at himself sarcastically. It was already four in the afternoon, and if he wanted to head to San Francisco that day like he promised, he only had a few hours left here. He screwed up his eyes and thought for a moment, before making a sharp u-turn and heading back into the city. Jason figured the best thing he could do at the moment was get something to eat. Maybe somehow miraculously something would come to him when his stomach was full.

Not really caring where he went as long as there would be burger, Jason stopped at the first bar, parked, and went inside. It took him only moments to realize that said burger would taste much better elsewhere. The bar, though mostly empty, smelled of both nicotine, which was what Jason guessed coated the walls, and another very distinctive sweet scent that he remembered all too well from his childhood around Crime Alley. Of course there had been much worse things than a little pot back then. Jason threw up his hood.

“Burger and fries,” he told the bar tender who eyed him in a tired, board manner. “To go.”

He waited for fifteen minutes before the man went to the back and emerged with a bag that Jason was pretty sure was beginning to turn transparent from grease stains in certain parts. He tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter and headed back to the door without waiting for change. Jason was already opening the passenger side door of the Dodge and dropping the bag on the front seat when a crash and yelp from behind the bar instantly diverted his attention. Shutting the car again, he briskly walked over, expecting to see a homeless person who had fallen.

The site that greeted him, however, was something else entirely.

A large man in a stained apron – probably the short-order cook – was making his way down the steps of the bar’s back door holding a large knife with a broken tip. His back was to him, and at first Jason didn’t even see who he was looking at until he spotted a dark shape crouched next to an overturned trashcan. _Not a homeless person_ , Jason realized. _A dog._ A black, rather large but thin hound that appeared to be an adolescent Great Dane but might have been some kind of mix as well.

“Stupid mutt,” the fat man growled and kicked the dog square in the ribs. Jason’s insides twisted as the dog yelped again in pain. “What you making a mess back here for?”

“Hey!” Jason shouted and stepped forward. “Leave him alone!”

The cook turned and bared his few remaining teeth. “Ain't _none_ of your business, boy.”

“I’m making it my business,” Jason glared at him. “He’s not hurting anyone, just looking for some scraps and bones. You throw all that out anyway.”

“You know how long it takes me to clean up this shit?” the man snarled in the direction of the overturned trashcans. “Scram, kid, if you know what’s good for you.”

He turned back on the dog, the knife still in hand, but Jason was faster. He was between the pair, and before the man knew what hit him, Jason had his fingers around his wrist in a tight grip, wrenched the knife away, and sent the man falling backwards with one solid kick to his gut.

“See how you like it,” Jason spat, unceremoniously tossing the knife in the trash behind him.

The cook stumbled back to his feet, holding his middle. He looked pissed off, but apparently wasn’t stupid enough to try for a second round.

“I’m callin’ the cops.” He pointed his sausage-like finger at Jason and then at the dog behind him. “You’re getting locked up, and that mutt’s finally gonna get put down.”

“I’m terrified,” Jason said sarcastically and watched the man scramble back inside. He turned to the dog. “You better get out of here, ace. I don’t think he was kidding about that last part.”

The hound stared at him for a moment with huge brown eyes, then to Jason’s dismay, returned his attention to the overturned trashcan. _Crap... he’s not going anywhere_ , Jason realized and he was sure police would be called at any moment. Looking around and thinking quickly, he spotted a paper bag that still contained the two last bites of a cold burger patty. Jason gingerly pulled it out and offered it to the dog.

“See?” He let the hound sniff it before slowly moving backwards. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Just follow me, okay?”

He inched back all the way to the car with the dog faithfully following after the ruminant of the meat patty. Once they were at the Dodge, Jason let him snatch the morsel from his hand then, before the dog could get the idea to go back to the trash, opened the door and produced his own bag. The scent, much stronger from the still-warm food, instantly got the hound’s attention. Jason held up the bag high over his head.

“You come with me, and it’s yours,” he promised and tossed it to the back seat. As expected, the hound bounded in after it, and Jason quickly shut the door. The car would be a mess, but that was the last thing he cared about at the moment.

Initially, he had intended to find the nearest shelter and drop the dog off. _Not too close_ , he reasoned. What if animal control or that idiot of a cook tracked him down to a local shelter? He glanced in the rear view mirror where the dog in question had made himself comfortable by sprawling across the entirety of the back seats. Shreds of the paper bag and the occasional fry were strewn all over, but for the most part the food was all gone.

Finally, because he was just completely out of ideas and the sun was beginning to set, Jason drove into Griffith Park, found a secluded spot, and let the dog out of the car. He bounded several yards across the grass, but when Jason didn’t immediately follow, stopped, and trotted back to him, nose to the ground. When he reached his side, the dog sniffed at his hand in search of more food and gave a small whine.

“I don’t have anything else,” Jason told him. “You ate mine, as it is.”

Apparently taking the comment as a reproach, the dog’s ears fell flat against his head, and Jason sighed. He bent to one knee and patted the hound affectionately. “It’s okay, ace. You got it a lot rougher than me.”

He found a picnic area with a water fountain, picked up a plastic cup someone must have dropped from a birthday party, rinsed and filled it, then held it for the dog to drink. When it looked like he’d had his fill, Jason tossed the cup into the nearest bin and went to the fountain to get a drink himself. Having had some food and water, the hound looked in much better spirits. He kept nudging Jason’s palm with his wet nose, and he had a feeling the dog was becoming far too attached to him.

Jason leaned back against the edge of a picnic table, absently watching the few remaining families gather their things and head for their cars as the sun crept closer to the horizon. _Mini-van, mini-van, SUV, Hummer…_ Jason wrinkled his nose. _As if there’s not enough smog in here as it is_. His eyes kept idly scanning the cars, and then suddenly froze.

The Hummer was instantly forgotten, because there was a Porsche parked just a few rows away, and Jason knew that car. His eyes fell shut and suddenly, he could suddenly see a different scene behind closed lids.

_His left cheek stings, but he’s frozen in place, incapable or unable to retaliate. The room he is standing in is large and there are several people dressed in black around him. Jason thinks he might have been fighting again – his body certainly feels like he’s been fighting – but he doesn’t strike back at the person in before him. Her back is to him, but he knows it’s her; the woman from the shore side. He can just see her long pony tail swing back and forth as she berates whoever she faces._

“ _He never fights back when it’s me!” she yells. “Explain that! Never when it’s me!”_

_Jason wonders why he would ever want to fight her._

When he opened his eyes again, the woman in question was standing before him. It figured that he’d gone through so much trouble trying to find her, and she’d find him instead. Jason didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. He settled for staring at the ground.

“I’m having a bad day,” he confessed then appended. “The dog had it worse, but I’m pretty sure Dick’s gonna kill me when he gets his hands on me, so there’s that.”

Talia’s expression, which was a mixture of sympathy and amusement, didn’t change but she briefly glanced at the hound who stood at Jason’s right. Her lips curved slightly, and she held out her palm to it. The dog sniffed then licked it gingerly and let Talia pet his blocky head.

“He is a beautiful animal,” she said smoothly. “He also appears in need of nourishment.” Jason’s stomach picked that moment to make itself known. Talia looked at him. “And you _sound_ like you do.”

“Yeah.” It occurred to Jason that he hadn’t really eaten anything since the evening before in Los Vegas.

“As it happens I know of a descent Greek restaurant.” Talia said casually. “I seem to recall you are quite found of lamb souvlaki.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “I do. Come. I am certain they can find something for your pet as well. What is his name?”

“I dunno,” Jason shrugged. This was so surreal, standing here and talking to her as if no time had passed and nothing had happened. “I’ve just been calling him ‘ace’. Think he’s kind of… adopted me.”

Talia looked amused. “Tell me he did not ‘follow you home’.”

“Some idiot was beating on him,” Jason set his jaw. “I made him stop.”

“Of course you did.” She sounded like nothing less would have even occurred to her, then extended her hand as if to guide him away. “Come, child. You will forgive me for saying so, but you do look as though dinner would do you some good.”

Jason was not going to argue with that, and twenty minutes later they were sitting down at the outside tables of the Greek place that Talia had suggested. It looked small but cozy with only a few other patrons inside and no one else at the other three outside tables. The dog sat patiently by Jason's chair. Talia smoothed down her knee-length pencil skirt and sat opposite him, licking his chops every few minutes. The smell from within must have been overwhelming for the animal, and Jason was glad they'd decided to sit outside.

When the waiter came buy, Talia ordered a Greek salad with a side of hummus and going by her suggestion, Jason asked for a lamb platter and a bowl of water for the dog. The man taking their order didn't look thrilled, but Jason unceremoniously pulled out his wallet and handed him a twenty dollar bill in advance. Talia smiled, and he cleared his throat.

“How'd you find me?”

“Quite simply. The hotel security had a snapshot of your car, and the concierge informed me my son asked for me. Since I am certain Damian does not yet drive, logic dictates it had to be you.”

“Dad lets him take the Batmobile around the block,” Jason said flatly.

“Amusing.”

“Aren't you going to ask how _I_ found you?”

“Oh, Jason,” her laugh was high and light. “You did not find me. If I had not come to you, you would have left the city and never seen me. You are well-trained, but I am still the better.”

“Probably.” He knew she was right.

“However,” she conceded, “you _did_ get close, closer than I am comfortable with. Therefore I am forced to retire the location and alias immediately. Congratulations: you are your father's son.”

He gave a bark of laughter, and the hound next to him raised his head suspiciously at the noise. “Thanks.”

Their food arrived a few moments later. Jason took his screwer, then used his fork slid off a cube of meat and put it in the dog's bowl of water. While the hound busied himself with devouring it, he tried a piece himself. It was tender and a bit gamey, but Talia had been right: he liked lamb.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jason looked up from his plate at her. “The year before you... umm... rebooted my brain in the Lazarus Pit...”

“Jason,” she looked at him sympathetically. “Please do not ask questions about that which you do not really desire to know. You were unwell, and it is really best not...”

“But that's the thing,” Jason persisted. “I think I'm starting to... I don't know... remember stuff. From before.”

A fork-full of salad stopped half-way to her mouth. Talia placed it back on her plate, and he could tell her look changed to that of concern. “What do you remember?”

“Just bits and pieces,” Jason shook his head. “I remember... some kind of sparring scion or something. You were yelling at some guy in glasses. I _think_ you were talking about me, how I wouldn't fight back when it was you.” Her usual dusky complexion paled slightly, but he went on. “There was another time. We were sitting somewhere by the ocean. I don't remember that one well, just that you looked... sad.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which he could tell she was debating what to say. He was right about the memories, Jason was sure of that, but he was hopping Talia might tell him more. She was probably right that he didn't want to see himself that... damaged, but Jason hated having so much time simply cut out of his life. Finally she straightened, lacing her fingers in front of her mouth.

“I strongly advise you against dwelling on that time,” Talia looked at him sharply, her moss-green eyes flashing in warning. He was about to protest, but she held up her hand in a clear sign not to argue. It was disturbingly similar to Bruce. “I understand it is difficult not knowing, but I would rather have you struggle with that than place you in danger.”

“Danger? I know it wasn't exactly a fun time, but how could knowing be dangerous?” The answer hit him as soon as the words left his mouth. “This is about your old man again, isn't it?” She said nothing, and Jason leaned forward slightly, forearms resting firmly on the table. “I don't know if you know this, T, but I can be ridiculously single-minded when I want something. So unless you give me a good _specific_ reason not to dig into that...”

“Alright,” she interrupted. “I will tell you enough that you might understand how serious I am. When we received word of your resurrection and tracked you down in Gotham, my father's primary interest was to learn precisely how you overcame death. That was why you were brought to the estate in Europe.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I figured he didn't do it out of humanitarian reasons.”

She ignored his comment. “That was his hope, but in the year you were with us, your mind remained as clouded as the day you stepped over the threshold. My father eventually lost interest. He believed you would never recover on your own and refused to allow me to place you in the Pit.”

“But you did anyway.”

“Yes.” Talia smiled at him. “It earned me his wrath, to be sure, but it is also a decision I will never regret. Jason, I implore you to understand that your lack of memories of the time between your return to the world of the living and return to awareness are a blessing, a form of protection. If Ra's al Ghul even _suspects_ that you have begun to recall anything, he will come after you with the full force of the League of Assassins.”

 _Yikes!_ As far as arguments went, that was a pretty solid deterrent. Jason swallowed hard. “What if... what if I remember more anyway?”

“Then,” her eyes were locked on his, “you are not to tell anyone about it. Especially me.”


	13. Part XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time. I felt like it was time to revisit Dick and Bruce both. Especially considering the content. Big moment here! Let me know how I did!

Unlike Bruce and Jason, Dick was a social creature. Good friends are cheaper than therapy, as the saying went. Not that money was an issue – or like he'd never had therapy – but Dick couldn't imagine spending so much time on his own the way some members of his family did. The company of Vic, Garth, and Raven along with the younger Titans was a welcomed sight the moment he arrived at the tower.

“Yo!” Victor Stone threw a massive metal arm around his shoulders. “It's good to see you, man.”

Garth tackled him with a full-body hug that would have had Dick on the ground of Beast Boy if weighted a little more. “We heard Roy was coming too. Gonna have an old-school Titans reunion.”

“Yeah,” Dick smiled. “We saw him in Vegas. I just flew in from there, but he's driving so it'll be a few hours.”

“‘We’ as in... you and the queen of England?” Garth guessed. “Come on, give it up. Where've you stashed your baby brother? Thought he was supposed to be coming with.”

“He…” Dick thought of the best way to phrase it, “had an errand to run in L.A.. Kind of spur of the moment, but he should be here sometime late tonight, I think.”

They went on talking animatedly as they entered the tower but soon grew more somber. Dick hadn't spent much time in the tower lately, but whenever he visited his first stop was always the Hall of Fallen Titans to pay his respects. He briefly wondered if Roy had been right: if his guilt over not attending Jason's funeral somehow drove him to view the loss differently after that point. The others left him in the hall for a bit to be alone with the statues of the fallen. He walked over to the statue of Donna Troy, regal but as lifeless as the amazon herself, and placed his palm on the base.

“He really misses you,” Dick spoke softly, imagining his friend could hear him.

Upstairs in the open kitchen and dining space the atmosphere was much lighter and more relaxed. Conner Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, and M'Gann M'orzz were discussing something by the kitchen counters. Dick plopped down on the couch between Garth and Bart Allen who was madly flipping through channels until he settled on Cartoon Network. He grabbed a fist-full of popcorn from his bowl, sighed contentedly, then folded his hands behind his head.

“I miss this,” he grinned at the green youth.

“Watching cartoons?”

“No one back home appreciates the relaxing simplicity of it,” Dick complained.

“Not even that new little kid you guys got?” the speedster looked shocked. “Isn't he like... eight? He doesn't watch cartoons?”

Dick tried not to wince. “No, Damian watches the History and Discovery channels.”

“Huh, another nerd,” Conner snorted from his place at the kitchen counter. “He and Tim must be getting along.”

“Ah, he mostly still sticks close to Jason.”

Conner exchanged a look with Cassie and Miss Martian then shrugged and went back to talking to the girls about something else. Dick was relieved that the topics of Jason or Damian weren't really as interesting to the younger team members who only knew Tim as Robin. He was more patient, but even Dick was getting almost as tired of the gossip as Jason had been.

A few hours of cartoons, pizza boxes, and sodas later and he was completely at ease, laughing and chatting with both new and old team members. He barely felt the phone vibrate until the third ring. _Must be Jay. Finally!_ Dick fished it out, and his smile instantly fell. He frowned at the caller I.D.. _Bruce?_

He swallowed, suddenly apprehensive, but slid his thumb across the screen and unlocked it.

“Hello?”

* * * * * * * * * *

At times like this, Bruce wondered if he was cursed. He'd had no reason to think that way for months, not since Jason returned and brought Damian into his life. His sons were back, his sometimes tense relationship with his eldest had improved dramatically, and Tim was perfectly happy both while as Robin and to just hang out with the two older boys. Bruce had honestly thought that this time things would be alright.

It took hours to coax Tim out of his house, to clean up the blood, make all kinds of arrangements, and – as much as he hated to even think so clinically now – collect the evidence. All the while a mantra kept running through Batman's mind. _Not again, not another dead father, not another orphan. Tim was supposed to be different. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not again..._ By the time he could even think about stopping, it was nearly dawn.

He stood outside the Drake house for a long moment, hidden by shadows of trees and his own suit. Then he swallowed and gave a single command to the cowl.

“Call Dick.”

There was a pause and several rings before his eldest finally picked up. “Hello?”

“Are you on the road?” He didn't want to give them this kind of news if they were driving, especially in a city.

“No.” Bruce could hear a note of caution rise in his voice. Dick really did know him too well.

“I need you both to come back to Gotham immediately. Take the next flight out of Los Vegas or San Francisco, wherever you are now. Leave the car. We'll have it shipped back later.”

“What happened?” Already he sounded nearly panicked. “Bruce, what's going on?”

There was no way to hide it. Batman took a breath and tore off the proverbial band-aid. “Jack Drake is dead. Murdered by Digger Harkenss.”

“Fuck!” He could hear startled gasps in the background then Dick take several deep breaths. “Where's Tim?”

“I took him to the manor and asked Alfred to take care of him while I...” he swallowed, “secured the crime scene. You both need to come home _now,_ Dick.”

He had to return to Watchtower, had to work with the others to catch whoever was responsible for these atrocities, but there was no way he was leaving Tim or Damian alone tonight. Alfred was a miracle worker with traumatized children, but Bruce wouldn't risk them being without someone trained around, someone who could protect them. After this, he needed both of his eldest home in the manor. Even Titan Tower didn't feel safe anymore.

“I hear you,” Dick regained some of his composure even though Bruce knew he had to be reeling from the news. “Next flight out, and we'll take a cab home. Don't bother Alfred.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “I'll see you soon.”

He cut the connection, made his way across the short distance between the cave bellow Wayne Manor and the Drake house, and went straight for the showers in the locker area without bothering to go upstairs to the admittedly much more comfortable one in the master bathroom. Not that the no-costumes-upstairs rule had never been ignored before, but Bruce was not about to face either of the boys in the suit that was still stained in blood and Jack Drake's blood.

The first floor of the manor was eerily quiet but he met Alfred on the grand staircase. The old man's face was crestfallen, and Bruce guessed he had just finished seeing Tim off to bed. They paused a stare apart, and with a deep sigh his oldest friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Bruce.” Alfred's voice was heavy with sadness, and the rare name-only address made him feel eight years old again, “this is _not_ your fault.”

He frowned at that, as if the thought that it could be anything _but_ his fault was completely foreign. “You said that with my parents. And then with Dick's parents, and when Jason...” he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. _That horror is done_ , he reminded himself. _My son is alive. No one will take any of my children from me ever again._ Bruce swallowed. “It keeps happening, Alfred.”

“But it is _not_ your fault.” The old man stressed. “Even Batman cannot be everywhere at once, hard as you might try. The only thing you can do now...” He turned his head and his eyes traveled up the stairs. “I have made Master Timothy drink some warm milk and saw him to bed.”

“How... how did he seem?” It was a stupid question but Bruce asked it anyway.

“Like a traumatized child, in shock. I gave him a mild sedative to help him sleep. I pray he does not dream.”

“Me too.” He still had nightmares about Joe Chill decades later. What Tim had just witnessed.... the way he'd found his father... Bruce ran a hand over his face.

“If I may make a suggestion,” Alfred spoke softly. “Timothy will sleep for several more hours at least. You might like to check on Master Damian.”

Bruce's brows rose. “He should _definitely_ be asleep.”

Alfred said nothing. _Right. 'Should' is a very convenient word._ Bruce nodded and made his way up the rest of the staircase. A dim light could be seen from under his youngest son's bedroom door. He turned the knob slowly and entered.

Damian was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor still in his pajamas, yellow bat symbols scattered over a black background. Jason had bought those for him before he left with Dick, Bruce remembered. The boy had protested at first, but he'd finally worn them the night before the two eldest left. Jason had been grinning. All around the boy was some sort of complicated construction made out of a combination of K'nex, Legos, and a few mini engines that were definitely not toys. Bruce suspected some of them came from the cave.

“Hey.” He lowered himself on the floor next to his son. “What do you have here?”

Damian shrugged. “Started building a roller coaster, added a some pulleys and wires, and...” 

He flipped a switch, sending some of the small engines to life. Bruce didn't see what was happening at first until he looked up. Two Lego TIE Fighters were chasing a sole X-Wing around the ceiling on wires. Their front lights were flashing.

“That's really good.” Bruce was impressed. When he was eight he'd been playing with Gray Ghost action figures. “Did you stay up all night building it?”

Another small shrug. Damian looked distinctly uncomfortable now. “I heard when you brought Dr... Tim in. Something happened, didn't it? Something bad.”

Bruce bit his lip, then reached over to stop the humming contraption and pulled the boy into his arms. Damian squirmed a little, then gave in and tucked his head under his chin. For a moment he was content to simply hold his son. _Kids are resilient_ , he reminded himself. But Bruce was so damn tired of explaining death to children.

“Tim's dad is gone,” he said softly. “He... died a few hours ago.”

Damian was silent for a while, chewing on his lip. “I met him a few times,” he spoke up finally. “He made us popcorn when we watched the first Star Wars. He was... nice. Did you catch who killed him?”

Bruce tilted his head to get a better look at him. “How do you know someone killed him?”

“He wasn't sick or old.” Another shrug. “Unless it was an accident like... like with Mother.”

The fleeting thought of, _huh, another little detective_ , was overshadowed when he possessed the last part of Damian's sentence. _Like with Mother._ Bruce was not at all sure that allowing Damian to continue to believe his mother was dead was the right thing to do. Actually, he was certain it was _not_ , but there was so much else going on at the moment that he simply didn't have time to deal with the potential fallout of that revelation. Damian was smart, but impulsive and emotional as all children tended to be. Once again Bruce couldn't help but think of the way he'd lost Jason.

“I didn't catch them,” he answered the boy's original question. It was true. Digger Harkenss was just a pawn, Bruce knew that. “But I will, and in the meantime, Dick and Jason will be back sometime tomorrow to look after you and Tim until all this is over.”

Damian's face instantly lit up at the mention of his brothers, then suddenly turned morose again. He looked down at his hands, and Bruce frowned.

“What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy they're coming back soon.”

“I am!” The boy looked up at him hesitantly. “Is... is that alright?”

Bruce gave him a reassuring smile and pressed his lips against the top of his head. “It's okay to be happy to see family, even when something very sad just happened. Maybe _especially_ when something sad happens.”


	14. Part XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Los Angeles where Jason has no idea what's going on... I can't express how much I enjoyed writing Talia again. She really is such a wonderfully complex character that half the time even I don't know how she'll react to something until she does.

“Let's talk about something else then.” Jason clasped his hands over the blue and white checkered table cloth in front of him. “We've been sitting here for an hour now and you haven't asked.”

Talia raised a perfectly shaped brow over her cup as if in question. She'd ordered coffee after dinner, so Jason figured it must be good and ordered one himself. He'd watched curiously as the waiter brought a metal container with a long handle that Talia had called a 'cezve' and poured each of them a cup. The Turkish-style coffee was thicker than what he was used to but tasted as good as it smelled.

“About Damian,” he prompted. “This whole time you barely even mentioned him.”

“Jason,” she slowly lowered the cup back onto the white saucer, “do you believe me to be invulnerable?”

The question took him by surprised so he answered in the only way he knew how. “Not without a Lazarus Pit.”

She ignored the jab. “Do you think it does not hurt me to think of my son while I cannot be with him?”

“Hey, you _chose_ not to be with him.” Jason's voice rose without thinking. He could already feel anger bubbling to the surface again but tried to suppress it. “You _do_ know your old man suspects you're alive, right? But he still promised Dad he'd leave me and Damian alone, whatever that's worth.”

“He left you be because he thinks you remember nothing of your resurrection,” Talia reminded him. “And he left Damian be because now that Bruce knows of him, it would cause a small war for my gather to bring him back to the League and he has no way of making Damian come willingly or stay indefinitely without my influence. To put it plainly, you are both safe because he does not believe you to be worth the trouble.”

“And you being around somehow makes that... not true?”

“At least as far as Damian is concerned.” She took a breath. “If they both knew for certain that I live, my son would forever be torn between your world and mine. Why do you suppose I have kept the truth about him all these years in the first place?”

“That's for you and Dad to hash out,” Jason replied vehemently. “I'm not gonna lie and say that doesn't piss me off, but it's really between the two of you. I'm not getting into that. I just want what's best for my little brother and thinking his mom is dead is _not_ at the top of that list.”

“Why have you not told him the truth?” Talia tilted her head in apparent curiosity, and he hated how certain she was that he really _hadn't_ said anything. He hated even more that she was right. Jason set his jaw.

“Because Dad didn't.”

“Then, if both of his parents decided on a course of action, what makes you think you are in a position to disagree?”

“I can disagree... quietly,” he objected.

“I see.” Talia looked amused. “So this is _not_ an all-out rebellion?”

“All-out rebellion didn't work out too well for me last time.”

“Indeed. Does your father know where you are?”

“Dick does.” He deflected.

“Comforting, but that was not what I asked.”

“You're trying to distract me,” the teen objected, circling back to the original point. “Look, at least talk to Dad. He already knows you're alive. What harm could that do?”

“And once more we are back to the question of invulnerability.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was all about your feelings!” Jason finally exploded. “What about Damian's feelings? And Dad's? He defended you to me, and _I_ defended you to Harper, and now I'm wondering if I should have.”

Talia frowned. “Who is 'Harper'?”

“Roy Harper. Dick's douche bag of a friend.”

“Language!”

“Sorry!”

Again there was that sensation of feeling about five years old. Next to his chair, the hound who had fallen asleep after the meal raised his blocky head again at the noise. Jason patted him reassuringly, and he settled down again.

“If you think so poorly of this person to begin with, there is no cause for you to have any regard for his words.” Talia waved her hand in a haughty dismissive gesture. “Words are wind.”

“Yeah?” Jason challenged. “Do you care about what _I_ think?”

Her face was a mask as she looked back at him, and for a moment he thought she wold refuse to answer. Jason was pushing the boundaries, and he knew it. This was a woman who stood up to and on par with the most powerful men in the world. She was certainly not used to answering to a sullen teenager who had the audacity to  _demand_ things of her. And, okay, Harper was probably  _beyond_ beneath her notice, but Jason had the crazy idea that he wasn't. Something about saving a life and being responsible for it.... shouldn't the same rules apply when it came to resurrections?

“I care.” The answer came as a surprise, and Talia straightened in her chair. “So tell me, Jason; what _do_ you think? Truly.”

He took a deep breath. Fighting with her hadn't really helped. They'd just spent a solid half hour going in circles, though he strongly suspected she had full control of the conversation the whole time. Maybe some honesty would lead to more progress.

“I think Dad's right,” he said finally. “You love your kid and you honestly think you're doing the right thing and have been all along. Points for good intentions, but you're thinking about things too... objectively.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms. Jason swallowed hard but went on.

“You analyze stuff from all sides and plan the hell out of everything, and that's good sometimes. I'm pretty sure Damian and I wouldn't have made it to Gotham if you didn't, and I'm very _very_ grateful for that. But, T, you gotta know he can't think like that. _I_ can barely think like that and I'm a decade older than he is. It's not gonna matter to him _why_ you're not with him, just that you're not.”

“By your logic,” Talia challenged. “I should allow my eight-year-old son to make decisions about his own safety.”

“No, but you should take it into consideration.”

There was another very long pause in which Jason had concluded that this entire so-called conversation really was nothing of the sort. It was a very complex game of Go, played in complete darkness, where he could never quite follow his opponent's moves or his own, for that matter, and therefore had no idea if he was remotely close to winning or if the entire board was already covered in black pieces and he just hadn't noticed yet.

The mildly absurd thought that she  _had_ to teach him those tricks flashed across his mind. Jason held his breath.

Finally –  _finally_ – she inclined her head ever so slightly. “I will consider it.”

_Yes!_

“I'll take it!” A promise to _consider_ it from Talia was as close to a win as he was going to get.

Jason's face broke out into a grin. The waiter had just dropped off the receipts for their bill, which was apparently already somehow magically paid for – Jason guessed Talia had slipped her card somewhere in there when he wasn't looking – and he lunged for the black leather holder swiped the guest copy of the receipt.

“Here.” He tore the paper in two, jotted down his number on one half, and slid it across the table. Then he thrust the second scrap of paper and pen at her. “I want to have your cell phone number. I swear I won't give it to Dad or Ra's or anyone like that and I won't bug you, but really don't want to ask Timmy to hack any more satellites on my behalf.”

For a moment she looked like she might refuse, then Talia gingerly took the pen, turned the receipt over, and scrawled down several digits in her elegant cursive handwriting. She extended the paper back at him with the same care as one might give a very precious, personal item. An old photo or a letter, perhaps.

_The letter..._ Jason was about to take the number but paused. He pulled his hand back.

“I... I didn't read your letter.” He couldn't explain why he felt the need to confess that, only that to do anything less would be... dishonorable. She wasn't comfortable giving him her contact information but was doing so anyway. It wasn't fair if he didn't tell her the truth. “I didn't... get rid of it or anything, but I was... angry and bitter and... I know it's important, but... I'm sorry, T.”

Inexplicably she actually  _smiled_ at this. Reaching across the table, Talia took his right hand in hers and placed the receipt with the number into his palm. She closed his fingers around it and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you for your honesty, Jason. You say you still have it?”

He nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Back home.”

“Then would you please read it? When you return home.”

“I will.” He promised and meant it.

“Good. When does Richard expect you back?”

“In...” Jason looked at his watch. “Oh, sh... damn! It's late. I'll probably won't get to him till like... two in the morning.” He was on his feet, then glanced down at the dog who was looking back at him intensely then back to at Talia. “Can you take care of him for me?” She opened her mouth what was definitely going to be protest, but Jason cut her off. “Please? Just make sure he gets to a nice shelter, okay? Somewhere they won't... put him to sleep or anything like that.”

“Alright,” Talia relented. “I will look after him. Go, least you get into any _more_ trouble with your brother.”

_Another opinion she values_ , Jason noted to himself, though he suspected it had less to do with Dick himself and more with who raised him. He supposed that was fair enough in itself. Talia rose after him and before Jason could think to protest, gave him a gentle hug and peck on the cheek. Again, as it was that night six months ago in his old rundown apartment above Park Row, he couldn't help but think that her touch felt maternal.

“I am glad you came to see me,” she said, pulling back.

“Yeah, well, now it's your turn,” Jason replied pointedly. “Don't be a stranger, okay?”

She said nothing, but he really didn't expect her to. The promise of consideration would have to be enough for now. Jason looked down at the hound who was up and at his side once again, patted his head, then pointed to Talia.

“You have to stay with her, ace,” he told the dog. “Got it? Stay.”

The dog whined, and when he moved towards the Dodge, began padding after him. Jason sighed, feeling horrible, but he couldn't realistically take the hound with him. Dick wouldn't be thrilled, and it was going to be a very long drive back across the country after San Francisco.

“Stay,” he repeated to the dog. “Talia will take care of you.”

This time when he moved to the car, the hound sat back down by the woman's side. Jason hoped she'd keep him. The dog was clearly in need of a good home, and even if she'd never admit it, life in hiding must be a lonely one. Maybe she'd call one day or just show up at the manor, but until then Jason was glad he'd made the decision to come to Los Angeles.

Driving up the coast to San Francisco was pleasant. For the first time since Los Vegas Jason felt light and happy. Against all expectations, he'd done what he'd set out to do; he'd faced Talia and felt reconciled with her for the first time since his return to sanity. No, she hadn't exactly promised to come to Gotham any time soon, but he hadn't really expected her too. Just the fact that she'd promised to think about it was enough.

And in the course of this little adventure, he'd saved that dog.

_Not a bad day's work, all around_ , Jason thought. Definitely worth having to suffer through another lecture from Dick when he got to San Francisco.  Besides the worst of it should have been what he got the first time around on the phone. Now that his brother knew exactly where he was and what he was doing, there was no reason for Dick to do any more than reiterate about how he shouldn't have left without talking to him first.

With that happy thought, Jason rolled down the window, blasted the radio, and hit the accelerator.

He was in such a good mood that even the looming structure of Titan Tower on the horizon of San Francisco bay five and a half hours later didn't feel as intimidating as he expected it would at the beginning of the trip. Jason rarely felt like being social with people outside his family, and his short run with the Titans before his death left him feeling like they saw him as nothing more than Dick's little brother at best, replacement at worst. But he was determined to try this time. For Dick and Dad at least, because he knew they worried about him, and who knew? Maybe lightning would strike twice.

The tower was ominously dark except for a few lights on the top floor, but he supposed it was close to the middle of the night. Jason parked in front, rang the bell, but even after several attempts there was no answer. Perhaps he wasn't expected. Maybe Dick delayed leaving Vegas and was still in transit somewhere. Well, there was always the indirect approach. Mask or no he was still, as Damian liked to point out, the son of Batman. Sneaking into supposedly secure buildings was second nature, and really, it hardly counted.

_Same system as the Batcave_ . Jason grinned as he looked at the security panel at the tower's back garage entrance. He was inside in under a minute, making his way through the dark lower corridors, expertly avoiding alarms and bobby traps, and enjoying himself probably more than he should have. The darkness wasn't a big problem, but the thought that the high-tech red domino mask that Tim had designed for him would have come in handy here flashed through his mind. 

Within a few minutes the corridors ended, and Jason found himself in a large open space. He was about to move for one of the doors on the opposite end that he could make out by the shaft of light under it, but within a second of him stepping the large room several pillars of light along the perimeters of the room came to life. Suddenly Jason knew exactly where he was.

The illuminated statues of Donna Troy, Aquagirl, Dove, Hawk, and many others he didn't recognize lined the perimeter of what he now recognized to be the Hall of Fallen Titans. Slowly, Jason circled the room to stand before each one. He didn't know most and even those he had briefly worked with he hadn't known well, but each and every one was a hero in his or her own right. Donna's statue loomed before him last, and Jason stopped. Dick probably thought his reaction to learning of her death back in Texas was because he'd had a bit of a crush on her, but that wasn't it. Of course she was beautiful and courageous and kind to him. What fourteen-year-old boy wouldn't have liked that? But even then Jason knew realistically it wasn't a serious notion to entertain. He'd just hoped...

He'd hoped she could be a friend.

Suddenly the hall's main lights flared to life, and Jason turned to the second door just in time to see it open and Dick striding toward him flanked on both sides and behind by Titans, old and new. He recognized Cyborg, Raven, and Beast Boy and had just enough time to make out the stylized red S on the t-shirt of a boy who had to be Conner Kent before Dick was in front of him. Jason opened his mouth to great his brother, but something in Dick's eyes made him pause. He looked angry, downright pissed off, and... had he been  _crying_ ?

Before Jason could ask what was wrong, he felt Dick's fist connect with his jaw.

 


	15. Part XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long hiatus, I know. In my defense I had a huge project at work, then went on vacation to Israel, hiked up Masada, promptly fell from Masada (well, ok tripped on the way down), broke my ankle, walked around on said-ankle for another week and a 12+ hour flight. Now I'm stuck at home for the next 4-6 weeks in this blasted cast. Which maaayyy work to your advantage :) Enjoy and please review!

The punch itself didn't hurt. Wait.. that was a lie... it hurt like hell, but Jason was almost too shocked to notice. Sure, he'd been decked before and of course he and Dick sparred countless times, but his brother had never thrown a punch at him in real anger. That was usually his department. He stared at Dick, still more surprised than angry.

“What the hell?” was all he could manage.

“Do you have any idea,” his brother gritted out, “how long I've been calling for? 

“Calling? I didn't...” Then Jason remembered. His phone! He'd turned it off after Dick had called the first time the night before, and... and like a complete idiot, he'd never turned it back on. “Shit, I'm sorry. I left it off by accident, but I told you where I was going...”

“Where you were going?” Dick repeated indignantly. If anything, he seemed even more angry. “For all I knew you were laying dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“A little dramatic...”

“No, it's really not! Not with your track record!”

“Okay.” Jason closed his eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, then opened him again. “I can't believe I'm going to be the rational one twice in twenty-four hours. The phone thing was dumb, and I'm sorry, but this?” He pointed at his jaw that was now starting to throb in earnest. “I'm not sure I deserved this. And them?” He made a circling motion with his finger to indicate the present Titans. “Whatever your beef is with me is, you could've left your entourage out of it.”

He wasn't sure, but Dick looked like he wanted to kill him in earnest. Before he could take another swing at him, however, there was a swish of black robes and Raven was between them. She held up her pale hands to his brother, glanced at him, then back to Dick.

“He doesn't know.” Raven said in her calm, eerie voice.

“Know what?” Jason demanded, glaring at his brother. Then, as if a lightning bolt, it struck him. Something had happened. Something _really_ bad. He met Dick's still-red eyes. “Oh, my God... is... is it Dad? Damian?”

His brother swallowed. “No...”

Relief so strong it almost knocked him off balanced washed over Jason, but he quickly noted that his brother's face showed none of it. He looked at the others, searching the assembled teens for some sign as to what the hell was really going on. The ones he knew all looked sad and resigned, but it was the younger ones that finally made him realize who this was about. Conner Kent was clearly angry, like he was a millimeter away from punching through the wall. Next too him, the blond-haired girl in the red shirt with the embroidered gold W who had to be Cassie Sandsmark looked ready to cry. The smaller, brunet beside them who might have been Bart Allen was bitting his lip and looking anywhere but at anyone assembled.

Jason knew.

“It's Tim.”

“Tim's father,” Raven corrected, and Jason imagined her voice sounded as sympathetic as she could make it. “Approximately six hours ago.”

Six hours ago he'd still been in Los Angeles. Six hours ago he'd been happy... Hell, six  _minutes_ ago he'd been happy... happy while back in Gotham Tim was in the kind of agony every member of their family knew all too well, happy while Dick had been frantically calling, wondering if he'd lost him all over again to this new killer. No wonder he'd decked him.

“I'm... _so_ sorry.” Jason heard his own voice come out quiet and small.

Dick looked at him for a long moment, then turned on his heel back to the door.

“We fly back in an hour,” was all he said.

The mood in the living floors of the tower was somber when they made their way up. No one slept, and Jason noted that all the younger Titans kept their distance from Dick. He couldn't blame them. His big brother was in such a dark, foul temper, that Jason couldn't help but think that he could put on a cape and cowl right about now and the criminals of Gotham would be none the wiser. In the kitchen, Raven handed him an icepack.

“It's not your fault, you know,” Victor Stone told him as they settled at the kitchen counter. “He's freaking out about Tim.”

“Thanks, guys.” Jason gratefully pressed the ice to his jaw. “But I'm pretty sure some of it is definitely on me. An off phone in the middle of a crisis... how stupid is that?”

“Stupid,” Raven agreed. “But nothing more than that.”

“Thanks,” he repeated. “Sorry we can't stay.”

“You do what you have to,” the tall broad man told him. “There'll be other visits. It's still good to see you again, kid.”

“You too, Vic,” Jason nodded, then turned his head as two of the new Titans made their way towards them.

“So, we were talking,” Conner began, “why are we just waiting around here? I mean, I know Dick said you guys are flying out in a bit, but it'll still take you six plus hours to get to Gotham, and Bart and I can be there like that.” He snapped his fingers. “We should go see Tim.”

Next to him Bart Allen nodded vigorously, but Jason shook his head.

“Sorry, no.” The youth's eyes flashed in anger, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Jason slid down from the stool and stepped before him. Face to face they were almost of a hight. “I know you mean well... Conner, right? But right now you guys might be a bit... much for him.”

“I'm... we're his friends!”

“I get that,” he replied calmly. “But right now he needs to be with family, and maybe you should be too. You might want to think about going to Smallville,” Jason glanced at Bart, “and Central City. Protect your loved ones.”

Conner looked like he would keep arguing but then his shoulders fell. “You'll... you'll tell him to call if he needs anything.”

“I will,” Jason promised and put a hand on his shoulder. “You're a good friend, Conner. He's lucky to have you.”

“Me too!” Bart piped in.

Jason smiled. “You too, kid.”

Dick came over to them in that moment, and Jason thought his brother looked, if not less angry, than at least maybe less angry with him. He held up his phone to show him their electronic tickets. Jason peered at them. Forty minutes till the flight and that was just about how long it would take to get to the airport, but then this is where being Bruce Wayne's sons really came in handy. For them, any plane would wait.

Still considering the late hour, Jason was surprised there were any planes flying out at all. Their flight was thirty percent full at most, and there was no one but the two of them in first class. He took the window seat closest to the front, so that there was a solid wall of steel between them and the flight crew and as much space as possible between the rest of the passengers. Dick had been avoiding speaking to or even looking at him except when absolutely necessary. At first Jason was patient, but this was getting ridiculous. After the plane took off and the flight attendants stopped fussing over them, he turned in his seat to look at his brother who was trying very had to pretend to be flipping through a magazine.

“I'm gonna talk,” he warned him in advance, “and you're going to listen even if you're looking at that crap. I get that you freaked out and I am _again_ sorry about the phone thing and about Tim's dad. The timing of all this was shitty, _but_ I'm not going to apologize for going to L.A..”

That definitely got Dick's attention. He looked up at him sharply, glaring daggers.

“I know you don't agree with me, but I did a _good_ thing,” Jason insisted. “I did something important.”

“Talia,” his brother sneered, “is _not_ important.”

“Not to you,” Jason said, wondering again in what universe he was the rational one and Dick was this _blinded_ by anger, “but she's sure as hell important to Damian.”

“And you,” Dick shot back. “Don't tell me you did all this _only_ for Damian, because I don't believe you. No one believes you, they've just been too nice to say anything. You did this whole stupid stunt for you. You ran off again in the middle of a crisis because you thought satisfying some kind of twisted curiosity was more important than doing everything – _everything_ – in your power not to make us worry about you. This is Ethiopia all over again!”

“It's not!” It was really hard not to get angry too when he brought _that_ up. “I was never in any danger with Talia and you know it! And yeah, she _is_ important to me. She's also important to Dad, but that's a can of worms I'm not gonna get into. Me going to see her did not _cause_ Jack Drake's murder as you've been not so-subtly implying all night. The two events are _completely_ unrelated, and I already apologized for having the phone off and freaking you out but the rest?”

He shook his head as if to clear it, took a deep breath, then put forward his last words. “I can't give Tim his dad back, but Damian's mom is still alive. She's made mistakes, but she's  _not_ a bad person, so if I can do something to see that she's in his life, I will.”

With that, Jason turned back to look out the window at the black sky outside. Dick said nothing, so he figured the conversation was over. His brother had been right that the trip was not solely for Damian; it helped his get over any anger and lingering resentment he'd had towards Talia. Without that to distract him, he could be a better son and brother to his family. As far as Jason was concerned, the trip was well worth it.

* * * * * * * * * *

To say that Dick was exhausted was the understatement of a lifetime. Mentally, emotionally, and even physically – though he suspected that was mostly a symptom of the first two – he was completely and utterly done. It was the kind of exhaustion that had his body buzzing and wouldn't let him sleep at all during the six hour flight to Gotham.

Jason had fallen asleep sometime soon after his righteous declaration of absolute certainty that he had been in the right during his insane joyride to Los Angeles, and Dick kept waiting for his own anger to dissipate but this time it was refusing to. He was usually the patient, rational one, talking his brother down when Jason lashed out. Well, this time he was more than entitled to his own anger.

As far as he was concerned, it was past time for Jason to grow up. Issues of mental versus physical versus chronological age aside, when he'd first returned, everyone – including himself – had been incredibly patient with him. No one had even pressed to talk about his near-suicidal stunt. Dick was now firmly convinced that was a mistake. His brother still failed to understand that actions he thought affected no one but himself in truth affected  _everyone_ in their family. No, Jack Drake's death was not on him, but every hour after that that Dick had spent frantically calling him, every hour that they had been delayed in coming home was, and Dick didn't really care if it was because of Talia al Ghul, the Crime Syndicate, or divine intervention.

He didn't sleep, but somehow Dick was still taken by surprise when the captain announced their descent into Gotham. A three hour time difference meant that it was already almost noon on the east coast. In the seat next to him, Jason stirred and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired but still better than Dick felt as he gathered his things from under the seat. Most of their stuff had been left with the car and would be shipped back to Gotham later but each had managed to grab his respective duffel bag with the basics.

Their brisk walk through the airport was unencumbered by any unwanted attention. Even when the cab driver who hadn't initially bothered to really look at them raised a brow when Dick told him where to go. Realizing just who he had in his cab, the driver opened his mouth to say something but closed it almost immediately when Jason glared at him.

“Just go,” Dick said. “We're in a hurry.”

Forty minutes later the massive gates of Wayne Manor were swinging open before the beat-up yellow cab, and it barely had a chance to stop in front of the house before Jason was already getting out, running up the few stone steps, and pushing open the massive double-door. Dick handed the driver the money and a generous tip and got out as well.

He was just at the door when he heard Jason's voice ring out into the expanse of the manor.

“Dad!”

The shout bounced against the walls, and Dick saw Jason open his mouth again when Bruce appeared at the end of one of the long hallways where Dick knew lay a room with the entrance to the cave. Dressed in a dark gray shirt and jeans, the older man looked haggard and if possible, more sleep-deprived than usual but his face instantly brightened at the sight  of the two of them.

Jason was further ahead and within a few long strides Bruce had his arms around his son and held him tight until Dick reached the pair. When he pulled back, he seemed to begin to turn towards him when suddenly it returned to Jason. Bruce frowned and reached out to brush the pad of his thumb over his son's jaw.

“What happened here?”

Jason opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was, “Umm...” Inwardly Dick winced. None of them had ever been particularly good at lying to Bruce at the best of times, but he appreciated Jason not throwing him under the bus right away. He stepped forward.

“That was me.”

Bruce immediately turned to him, frown deepening. His eyes clearly mirrored the question of why in the world would he hit his brother in what had clearly not been friendly sparring. Now, after a few hours, Dick was starting to wonder the same thing. He was about to reply, but this time Jason got there first.

“Trust me; I deserved it.”

The way Bruce was looking between the two of them, Dick had the distinct feeling of being twelve years old again and withholding a bad grade or something similar. Idly, he wondered how this compared to Barbara growing up under Jim Gordon's watchful eye. Finally Bruce spoke, crossing his arms.

“Does this have anything to do with your... delayed return?”

Well, Dick had no real illusions that the world's greatest detective was going to miss that little detail.

“Yeah,” Jason admitted, apparently having given up on coming up with a convincing enough story. “That one's also on me. Right now, file it under the we're-not-dead-or-dying category, and I promise I'll tell you all about it later.”

Most of the time trying to get Bruce out of poking somewhere was impossible. Impossible, that is, for everyone but the prodigal son whose return he still sometimes viewed at as something unreal that could be taken back at any moment. Because it was Jason who asked, he nodded.

“Damian and Tim are upstairs,” Bruce said wearily. “I don't know if you want to eat or wash first...”

“No,” Jason shook his head. “I'll go see them. Thanks, Dad.”

When he disappeared up the main staircase, Bruce turned to Dick. “Should I worry?”

_So much for not poking..._ “I don't think you have any capacity left to worry,” Dick gave a humorless snort.

“But _should_ I?” he pressed.

“No.” This time the smile was real. “We'll sort it out, but I promise we'll be fine. There's really nothing more important than Tim right now.”

“Alright.” Whether or not he wanted to keep arguing or was just too tired to, Dick didn't know. His mentor jabbed a thumb up the stairs. “Same instructions. Go.”

Dick nodded and moved around him. Before his foot fell on the first stair, he paused and turned back. “Bruce?”

The older man pivoted to face him again.

“It's not your fault.”

 


	16. Part XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah, another long hiatus. Being stuck at home does nothing for my creative juices. At least the cast comes off next week. Yay!

Jason would have liked to tell himself that the reason he went to see Damian first was because his little brother's room was first on the way down the hall and most certainly _not_ because of his particular brand of cowardice. He had no idea what to say to Tim which was unlikely to change in the next few minutes but Damian he knew how to be around. He turned the knob and pushed forward...

...and immediately had to bite his lower lip from howling in pain as something sharp dug into the bottom of his foot.

“Son of a...!” Jason gritted his teeth and glared at the offending Lego piece on the floor. “D!”

Wherever Damian was the moment prior, he was all but flying into Jason's. Already unbalanced from the damn Lego piece, the added momentum and weight of his little brother effectively knocked Jason down to the floor. Any will he had to be annoyed, however, was completely lost when he looked down at Damian who was still clinging to him.

“Where have you been?” the boy demanded, al Ghul brows drawing together over very-much Wayne blue eyes. “Father said you'd be home hours ago. What happened to your face?”

Jason tried not to wince at the first question and ignored the second. “Sorry, little d. I'm here now. How've you been?”

He shrugged a shoulder looking sullen. “Father said I'm not to leave the manor. He _does_ know where I was trained, right? How old does he think I am?”

“I think he thinks you're eight,” Jason said mildly.

“Almost nine!”

“My apologies, little princeling.” Damian made a face at him, and he sighed. “Dad's just really worried. You heard about what happened?”

His brother wrinkled his nose. “I tried to talk to Tim, but he just hides under the blankets in the guest room. He cried a lot at first, but... not anymore.”

Jason wasn't really surprised. Hurt and grief tended to turn to numbness. He'd both experienced it and witnessed it first-hand with Damian following the fire. He hoped no thoughts on the matter showed on his face now and that his brother wouldn't ask about the trip.

“Here's what we're going to do,” Jason declared, rising to his feet while still holding Damian. “We're going to see how Timmy's holding up, and then I'll make us something for lunch. Our job now is to take care of him and try to make Dad and Alfred's lives a little easier, okay?”

“Yes,” Damian nodded.

Dick was already in the guest room Tim was currently occupying. For a second Jason thought the younger teen wasn't even there, but then his eyes fell on the bulge under pile of blankets on the bed. When they entered, the eldest looked over his shoulder and when his eyes met Jason's, they exchanged a few silent words. Jason nodded at the bed as if to ask, “How is he?” but Dick just spread his arms in an, “As you see” reply. Jason cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on the lump that was the blanket over Tim's shoulder.

“Hey, kid. Listen, I'm not gonna ask if you're okay 'cause I know you're not and it's a dumb thing to say right now anyway, but I want you to know that no matter what we're all here for you. It's okay to feel horrible and cry, whatever you need to do. We'll be right here. Got me?”

There was no sound, but the bundle under the blankets shifted slightly. At least it was some kind of acknowledgment that Tim at least heard him. He rose.

“Do you need anything?” Dick asked, concern obvious in his voice.

The bundle moved again in what Jason thought looked like a head shake, though he doubted Tim really had any idea what he _needed_ right now, except his father back. By almost mutual understanding, Dick remained behind in the room while he went downstairs with Damian into the kitchen where Alfred was cleaning a counter which already looked spotless to Jason.

“Would you like anything, Master Jason?” he asked with the same stoicism he always displayed despite looking more worn and tired than he'd ever seen him. Jason hugged him.

“No, thanks,” he said. “We'll take care of lunch for everyone, and anything else you want us to do. Please tell me you have something I can do. Run errands maybe?”

“I appreciate the offer,” Alfred's smile was shallow but warm nonetheless. “I must keep busy also, and now that you've returned, I believe everyone – especially your father – would feel better if you remained at home.”

At some point in the past, a request like that would have chafed. Unlike Damian, he wasn't eight, and while he might not have worn a mask anymore, Jason was not really fully civilian either. Probably would never be again. He wasn't Jack Drake who had absolutely no prior training or experience in these kinds of situations. But he wasn't about to put any more stress on anyone else in the manor than he'd already done with Dick.

“I totally get it.” Jason held up his hands in surrender. “At least let us help with food prep. I can make killer baked potatoes, you know.”

Most of the day was spent quietly. He and Damian helped Alfred around the manor while Dick, who had barely slept on the plane at all, spent a few more hours in Tim's room and then reluctantly went off to bed himself. Jason didn't know how successful any of his attempts to talk to the teen were but he suspected not very. Two hours into Dick's nap, he brought a glass of water up to the teen.

“I know you're going to turn up your nose at food, but you have to drink something,” Jason insisted. “Come on. Sit up.”

For a moment he thought he'd have to argue, but then Tim reluctantly untangled himself from the blankets to sit cross-legged on the bed and took the glass from him. The kid looked terrible, puffy red eyes, hair sticking out at odd angles, and creases on his face from being buried in a pillow for too long. It would have been almost funny if one didn't know the reasons for it. A few unimpressive sips, and he thrust it back at Jason who put it on the nightstand and stretched out on the floor next to the bed.

“None of you have to do this,” Tim told him morosely. “I can use some space.”

“Yeah, that's not happening. Dad and Alfred gave you space for almost a whole day,” Jason said firmly. “Dick and I are going to smother you with love and affection until you feel like getting up. Take as much time as you need, but I told you we're not going anywhere.”

Tim said nothing else, just huffed in annoyance and went to hide under the blankets again, but as far as Jason concerned 'annoyance' was a good sign. Any emotion was better than nothing. He leaned his back against the wall and cracked open his tattered copy of _Game of Thrones_.

Damian came a few hours later with their pair of Nintendo 3DS and they played quietly for a little while, speaking only in very hushed voices. Jason had no idea when Tim was or wasn't asleep, but it was starting to grow dark outside. Another several hours passed until the door was pushed open to reveal Dick on the threshold, but the eldest didn't come in. Instead he looked at him and motioned with his head to step out to the hallway. Jason rose and quietly shut the door behind himself.

“Changing of the guard,” Dick said.

“You sure? I'm fine to hang out here longer if you want to sleep some more?”

“I'm okay,” Dick shook his head. “I want to see if I can get Tim to talk to me a little before we all turn in. Go relax, maybe check on Bruce. I think he's down in the cave.”

“Of course he is,” Jason sighed. “Alright, let me go check on Dad and then I'll come back and take little d off your hands, see what he wants to do.”

Dick tilted his head and his eyes zeroed in on the paperback in his hand. “You're not reading him _that_ , are you?”

“What do _you_ think?” He hadn't even left the book in the same room alone with Damian. “Kinda figured out pretty quick it wasn't age appropriate.”

Dick chuckled and Jason moved past him to go for the stairs, before his brother called back.

“Hey.” He stopped on the edge of the staircase and turned back. “I'm sorry about...” Dick pointed at his own unmarred jaw, “that. You already apologized for not picking up, and I was too angry to listen.”

Jason thought for a moment, mentally parsing the words. “But you still don't agree with me on... the other topic.”

“No,” his brother shook his head. “And I maintain that if you ever disappear without talking to me or Bruce again, I _will_ knock you out, but... I do get that the topic is important to you. I shouldn't have dismissed it.”

Jason nodded then peered at him suspiciously. “Are we having a moment?”

Dick laughed, and any tension there was between them evaporated. “Don't worry. It's over.”

Armed with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, he found his father down in the cave, staring at some kind of biological samples displayed on the enormous computer. He was so focused that Jason had to clear his throat twice before Bruce tore his eyes away from the screen. He extended the cup to him.

“You'll be happy to know,” Jason announced, “that Dick and I have kissed and made up.”

He father made a noise of acknowledgment but not much else. Jason thought he still looked not so much indifferent but definitely still distracted. His eyes shifted to the massive monitor, and he sequined at it. Notes in the corner of the screen told Jason at least partially what he was looking at.

“Is this... Jack Drake's autopsy report?”

Bruce blinked, as if finally coming out of his detective mental pocket. “No. Jack's autopsy is...” He seemed to struggle for the right – or perhaps politically correct – word. Jason strongly suspected it was 'uninteresting'.

“Whose is it?” He asked to save his father the trouble.

“Susan Dibny's.”

“She was the first vic, wasn't she?” Investigative thinking was like riding a bike; Jason might not have the mask anymore but the skills were still there. Bruce gave him a how-did-you-know look. “Hey, I talk to people.” The look didn't go away. “The Kents. I talked to the Kents, and don't you dare be mad at them. So anything interesting about Mrs. Dibny?”

“Not yet.” Apparently his father had given up on trying to shelter him from this particular case. “But the first one is always... special somehow.”

A long silence fell between them in which Jason was staring into the vast emptiness of the cave while Bruce took a sip of the coffee. It was the good kind, but now really wasn't the time to talk about _that_.

“Since you're here,” the coffee cup returned to the console, “I need to talk to you about Tim.”

The young man's brows went up. It wasn't something he was really expecting to hear. Everyone knew how Tim was. There was no real mystery about that.

“I was thinking,” his father continued, “about where he goes from here. The Drake house is still a crime scene but regardless, I don't feel comfortable leaving him alone any time soon. So... how would you feel if he came to live here?”

Jason blinked. “Wait... This is a question?” He and his father stared at one another, and he wasn't sure which of them was more surprised. “Because if it is, it's the dumbest question from the smartest person I know. _Of course_ he's staying here! I didn't realize there other options.”

Bruce looked – unbelievably! - uncomfortable. “I know there are still lingering issues...”

“You're kidding. Or you don't think very highly of me.”

“I think the world of you, Jason. Anyone who thinks differently doesn't know you at all,” his father smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, that's me,” Jason grinned. “Mr. Levelheaded-and-Responsible.”

“Except when you disappear to distant cities without telling anyone,” Bruce pointed out mildly. “That one... not so responsible.”

He didn't even bother to look surprised, thought of asking if Dick told but knew he probably hadn't. All things considered, unspoken rules of brotherhood dictated that tattling was highly frowned upon. His father raised a single brow at him.

“Not going to ask?”

“You're Batman,” Jason shrugged. “All-seeing, all-knowing. I just assume you have the car tracked within a foot radius.”

“Dick said that, but no, I don't. I trust you, Jason, but when my satellites get hacked, I check. Tim's good, but he's not _that_ good.” He looked down as if he was struggling whether or not to ask his next question. “Did you find her?”

Jason snorted and leaned back against the consul. “More like she found me. Apparently I'm also good, but not _that_ good. Her words, by the way, not mine. Do you really want to talk about this now? I saw her and I went back to San Francisco and then... the rest happened.”

He didn't say anything about the scrap of paper in his pocket with th ten digit number on it. Not that he didn't want to, having zero desire to talk to his father about his love life, past or present. Nothing would have made Jason happier than to hand over the number and let the two of them hash out their... complexities. But he'd made a promise and that had to mean something. Thankfully Bruce appeared to have picked up on his discomfort.

“You don't have to say anything else,” he said quietly. “Just... tell me how she seemed.”

“Lonely.” Jason didn't really have to think too much about that answer. The unspoken part of that was, _Like you_.

 


	17. Part XVII

Tim woke up slowly. He had a hard time differentiating between day and night, being awake and in a daze or actually asleep under his massive pile of blankets. Squinting at the drawn curtains, he guessed it was probably morning though he wasn’t sure of what day. What he was sure of is that he was awake... and that someones extra weight was pressing on the edge of the bed. Momentarily debating whether to ignore the person and go back to sleep or actually rise, Tim finally turned over and opened his eyes completely.

He didn’t expect to be staring at a small metal contraption or Damian’s frowning face.

“It’s broken,” the youngest of the household declared passionately. “Fix it.”

Startled by the blunt demand, it didn’t even occur to him to refuse. Tim gingerly took the little engine from the boy, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and turned it over in his hands. Identifying the problem right away, he carefully pulled at the loose wires and drew his fingers away at the small electric shock.

“This isn’t one of your Mindstorm engines,” he leveled the boy with a look. “You took it from the cave.”

Damian looked at him like he’d just made the most obvious statement in the world instead of accusing him of doing something he shouldn’t have. Tim sighed and carefully brought the wires together, twisted a few times, then pushed down the metal flap. With the press of a button the little engine roared to life. The teen turned it off again and looked at it.

“You could’ve fixed this yourself,” he told the boy. Over the past six months Damian had proven that he had a mind for engineering. In fact, thinking on it Tim wondered if he hadn’t broken the engine on purpose. Instead of looking guilty, Damian put on the most guileless expression he could muster. Given his parentage, it wasn’t very impressive.

“I’m only eight,” he said as if Tim might have forgotten and ducked under Dick’s arm who had swung open the door a second prior. They both watched the boy disappear down the hall.

“Sneaky kid,” Tim muttered to himself then focused on Dick who was looking at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. “Is it... morning?”

“Yes,” the eldest replied slowly. “How are you feeling?”

Tim thought about that. He’d spent such a long time in numb nothingness that he had a hard time recognizing when he was truly awake. Wiping a hand over his face, he rubbed the tip of his nose and sniffed.

“I feel... thirsty,” he said finally. “And I’m pretty sure I can use a shower.”

“We can take care of all that,” Dick promised. “But how are you other than physically?”

Images came to his mind then, flashes of his father laying on the floor with that awful boomerang protruding from his chest. His toes curled, and Tim could swear he felt the blood-soaked carpet again. He stiffened so that Dick wouldn’t see him shutter.

“I’ll survive,” he said instead, because survival was a default. Anything less was unacceptable. The eldest seemed to accept that because he nodded sullenly. He understood, Tim knew. Everyone in the house understood what it was like to be part of the dead-parents club in one way or another.

“Should I bring you some food or do you think you want to venture downstairs?” Dick asked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…”

“No.” Tim forced himself to rise. “I should. Can’t stay up here forever. It’s been… what… two whole days already?” Dick gave him a sympathetic look. “Three?”

“Four. Jason and I have been in and out of here, but you slept most of the time. The… ah… the funeral is tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. Tim supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the arrangements were taken care of. Again, wasn’t the first time one of them had buried a loved one. “Can you give me maybe a half an hour? I’ll be right down, I promise.”

“Sure,” Dick nodded. “Take all the time you need.”

When the door closed behind him, Tim sat very still and tried not to cry, which only brought back the sense of numb coldness. He forced himself to get up finally and took the hottest shower he could stand. Returning to the bedroom, he wasn’t in the least surprised to find a fresh stack of civilian clothes laid out for him. Tim dressed and tried not to wonder about his Robin costume, laying on the floor in the pool of his father’s blood. He wondered what had been done with it.

Part of him hoped it had been incinerated.

Dick, Jason, and Damian were all down in the kitchen but there was no sign of Bruce or Alfred which Tim figured was just as well. Somehow it was worse seeing those who had been with him the moments and hours after. He remembered being in the plane with Batman, hearing his father’s voice over the radio… if he’d ran just a little faster… if he’d stayed home that night or all the nights since his dad found out about Robin.

If he’d never put on the mask…

Tim had to brace himself against the door frame. Too many ifs, and none of them remotely useful. After his mother’s death, everyone – Dick and Alfred especially – had told him not to drive himself crazy with imagining various alternative scenarios. It was what it was. Tim straightened, walked the rest of the way towards the island table, and climbed onto a bar stool. Dick gave him a small smile, and Damian pushed forward a steaming bowl of something white towards him. Tim looked at it blankly then looked at the two oldest in question.

“It’s cream of wheat,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Little d’s on a kick and insisted on sharing. Apparently Mrs. Wayne made it for Dad when he was little.”

Damian scowled at his brother over something Tim didn’t quite get. To please the boy, he took a spoon-full of the white concoction. He imagined it wasn’t bad but could barely taste it. Dick placed a cup of tea next to the bowl, and unable to take any more fussing, Tim made a face.

“Just because Alfred’s not here doesn’t mean you have to watch me to make sure I don’t starve to death,” he grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

“You will be,” Jason agreed, unbothered by his court tone, “but you’re not there yet. No one’s rushing you, but for now this is how things are gonna be. Now shut up and eat your goop.”

Tim blinked in surprise, and Dick just shook his head. “Excuse Jason. It is just how he shows affection.”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” Jason replied reasonably. “Just pointing out that there’s no point being mad at us. Especially,” he looked at the teen, “since you’re stuck with just us for the rest of the day.”

“Where’s Bruce? And Alfred?”

“Watchtower and running errands, respectively,” Dick said then held up a hand before Tim could ask. “If he finds anything, he’ll let us know.”

“And he’ll be back for the funeral,” Jason added. “No matter what else happens, he’ll be there. We’ll all be there.”

Tim opened his mouth to say that they didn’t have to, that there had been too many funerals already. Jason, especially, couldn’t possibly feel even remotely comfortable stepping foot in a cemetery ever again. And Damian… six months was nothing for a child who lost his mother. As if reading his mind, Jason held up a hand.

“Stow it, Timmy. It’s not up for discussion. We don’t abandon our own.”

The teen exhaled and for the first time in a while felt some pressure lift from his chest. When Jason had first returned, Tim had been more than a little star-struck, giddy with optimism and fantasies of hanging out with another of his childhood heroes, but he wasn’t so oblivious as to think that the older teen had completely gotten over seeing him as Robin. Thus far his relationship with Jason had been cordial but cautious. He didn’t want to overstep any more boundaries than he already had. To hear Jason firmly state that he was one of them made Tim feel better.

“Thank you,” he looked down at the table top.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Dick asked.

He thought about it. “I should… go home, probably.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Dick objected the same time that Jason said. “That’s a really bad plan.”

“Look,” Tim was surprised how pragmatic he sounded even to his own ears. “I need… things. Clothes, the basics.”

“We can buy all that,” Dick offered.

“I want my stuff.”

“Okay, how about this:” Jason tried. “You tell us what you need, and Dick and I will go over there and bring it all back for you. You can watch Damian in the meantime.”

“I want to come,” the boy piped in.

“Not gonna happen, little d. You and Tim keep each other company. We’ll be back in an hour, max.”

Dick nodded and looked back at him. “What else do you need aside from clothes and toiletries?”

Tim thought about that, forcing himself to think more strategically instead of sentimentally. Considering the people involved Gordon would most likely let Batman handle everything without sending a squad to the… crime scene. He hoped no one but Bruce had been back to the house since their departure.

“You should grab my laptop, camera, and any USB sticks or SD cards you find,” he advised the two former Robins. “Also the shoe box from my closet. Just in case.”

Jason raised a brow, but Dick just nodded. They left him alone with Damian who didn’t seem to be too much in a talkative mood which was fine. As promised the two returned within the hour carrying a duffel bag of his clothes and two box fulls of various tech. The bag went straight upstairs, but the tech had to be looked over as Dick and Jason had grabbed whatever seemed important.

Sorting it all was a blessed distraction. They ended up sitting in a semi circle in the living room and going through it all. Tim pulled out a small motion sensor and handed it over to Damian for his little project. The boy looked intrigued and began fiddling with it right away. Jason pulled the shoe box onto his lap and opened the lid, and Tim watched apprehensively as his predecessor flipped through the photos. Apparently having noticed his discomfort Jason snorted.

“Relax, boy wonder. You look like I just discovered your…” He stopped when he saw Damian looking at him expectantly. “Nevermind. It’s not like we all don’t know you were a little stalker.”

He held out the picture he was looking at, one of himself as Robin. Tim vaguely remembered when he’d snapped it. He’d been twelve, which means it was a little under a year before Jason’s death. The picture showed the second Robin on the edge of some rooftop mid jump onto the next one. He looked energetic, happy. Damian regarded it critically over Jason’s shoulder.

“It looks effeminate,” the boy declared.

Jason gave him a look. “Most eight-year-olds would just say ’girly’ and remember I just inherited it. There’s only one person here who’s man enough to pull that off.”

“Don’t forget the disco collar,” Tim put in.

“Haha,” Dick rolled his eyes at them. “I’d like to see you two look back on your fashion choices a decade plus from now.”

“Timmy wears pants,” Jason reminded him. “No matter what else he does, he’s got you beat.”

Staring at the picture Tim remembered his earlier thought about the uniform. The distraction of light chatter and going through his things was suddenly not enough. He felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed hard.

“What… um… what did Bruce do with my uniform?”

Dick and Jason exchanged a look, and the younger shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Dick admitted.

“Think he can… replace it?” the teen asked cautiously.

“I’m sure it won’t be an issue,” Jason told him. “Eventually. Again, not trying to be a jerk about it, but you’re not gonna be field-ready for a while. You don’t want to be out there when your head space isn’t completely clear. Trust me on that.”

He didn’t have to say that he knew better than anyone the consequences of being unfocused or not in the right mental pocket while out on the streets. No matter how good his intentions, Jason had paid the ultimate price for rushing in when he shouldn’t have. Tim didn’t have to be told he wasn’t ready. He knew he wasn’t. Every time he imagined putting on the suit again, all he could see was his father’s blood staining the red, yellow, and green.

Still, no matter what else, there reason for why he became Robin in the first place was still very much present.

“Batman needs backup,” he said firmly.

“He’ll have it,” Dick assured him before Jason could say anything. “I’ll go with him as soon as he gets back to his regular patrol pattern, after… all this.”

If Jason was going to say anything else he held it back.

 


	18. Part XVIII

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

All heads in the limousine went up instantly as Jason's exclamation broke the somber silence of the early evening ride to the cemetery. Dick opened his mouth possibly to rebuke him until he saw what had caused the outburst. There were reporters at the gates. Not a huge crowd, but even one would have been too much. Jack Drake's murder by itself was unlikely to make major headlines if it wasn't semi-common knowledge that Tim was friends with Bruce Wayne's sons.

Dick swallowed a curse of his own and looked at Bruce. “Want me to talk to them?”

“I'd be more than happy to...” Jason started, but his father was already tapping on the window for the driver to stop the car.

“Everyone stay here,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument and got out of the car.

The inside of the limo fell into silence again, until Damian spoke up. “I hate reporters.”

“Vultures,” Jason agreed then looked at Tim. “How're you holding up, kid?”

Tim swallowed and clenched his fists. “Cold,” was all he managed to say.

Jason nodded as if that was the exact answer he was expecting. For all intended purposes, it was. Jason was not in the least ashamed to admit that he hadn’t morned either of his biological parents the way Tim did his father. He’d morned Cathrine Todd, but at the time of her death he had been so preoccupied with simple survival that there had been little time even for that. And, if he was honest with himself, there had been a sense of relief that he wouldn’t have to witness any more of her drug-induced episodes or interact with her dealers. The closest he'd ever come to what Tim was feeling was probably in the moment of his own death and after his resurrection when he had lost hope of ever seeing Bruce again.

A little while later, watching Jack Drake’s casket being lowered into the ground, Jason thought that maybe his father was thinking of the same thing. He stood to his left while Tim and Dick took the right. Damian shifted uncomfortably in front of him, unsure of who he should be sticking close to. To still him, Jason placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at their father whose eyes were fixed straight ahead except for the moment towards the end when he turned to to the young teen.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” he said.

There was no reply. Tim had apparently decided to go back in his shell for now. Jason didn't like it, but for today he let it slide. Noting the slight termer in his father's left hand, he wordlessly reached out and took it in his. _I’m here_ , he wanted to say. _I’m alive_. Bruce squeezed it gratefully and returned his attention to the funeral.

There was nothing really akin to a wake when they returned to the manor afterwards. Alfred made sure they were all fed, of course, but after that Tim went to hide in his room again alone until Dick went to sit with him. Whatever they were saying behind the closed door, Jason didn’t want to interrupt. Today he would give the teen the space he’d been asking for, even if he thought he needed the opposite.

He was perfectly content to lay in bed with ear buds, tossing a stress ball at the ceiling until it grew darker outside. A spur of uncharacteristic optimism told Jason that whatever happened in the morning, it could only be better than what today was. Tim needed to heal, and somehow the actual act of burying his father felt like the first step in letting him go. Of course, Jason mused, that’s a terribly healthy response. His own father never healed after burying anyone, not his parents, and not even Jason himself despite his resurrection. He might be better than what little information Jason had been able to get out of them about Bruce’s actions and state of mind during his lost years, but sometimes he caught his dad looking at him like he wasn’t sure that Jason was real and wouldn’t be snatched away with the next gust of wind.

His door creaked open when Jason was already beginning to nod off to sleep. He only heard it in the first place because his play list had finished about an hour prior. Rising a little on one elbow, he turned towards the door and saw Damian carefully poke his head in the room. Seeing that he was awake, the boy came all the way in and shut the door behind him.

“What’s up?” Jason asked as casually as he could.

Damian sniffed. “It’s too quiet.”

Jason shifted to the edge of the bed closest to the wall, and without any further indication the boy climbed into the vacant space next to him. Just like during their journey across Europe and back to Gotham, he faced his brother and curled onto one side to take up as little space as possible. Jason pulled his left arm around the boy, idly running his hands through his soft hair.

“Want me to read to you?” he offered. It was always a good default, but Damian shook his head, sniffing again. “What’s wrong, little d?”

Instead of answering, the boy just buried his face into his upper arm and screwed his eyes shut. The silence was so long that, Jason thought he might have fallen asleep until he heard his little brother’s unusually small voice break a little as he uttered the three words that never failed to feel like a punch to the gut.

“I miss Mother.”

So much for closure and healing. Damian had been doing a lot better in the past six months but watching Tim struggle with the death of a parent had no doubt brought memories of his mother to the surface. Jason felt his throat tighten and swallowed the lump before replying.

“Me too, buddy.”

An hour later when it was completely dark and he was absolutely certain that Damian was asleep, Jason carefully untangled himself from the boy, padded across the room, and pulled out the creme still-sealed envelope with his name elegantly written across it from under a pile in his desk drawer. With the letter in hand, he retreated to the safest place he could think of. Most of the other doors on the floor were closed, but the one to his father’s study was left ajar and he could see that Bruce wasn’t there. Jason walked in, closed the door firmly behind himself, and forgoing the couch sat cross-legged on the floor with his back to the massive desk.

Then he read the letter in its entirety.

He read it again and again, until his eyes settled on the least words.

 _You are_ meant _for something, Jason. Only time will tell what that is. But you should know, more than any other reason, I have done this for love. I hope that will guide you into what you will become._

He didn’t realize there were tears in his eyes until one splashed down on the paper, smudging the ink. Jason quickly pressed his thumb to the drop to prevent it from smearing further. If he thought about it, he might have found it ironic how badly he’d wanted to be rid of the letter months before whereas now he couldn’t bare for any part of it to be damaged.

Then he pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket, found the contact he had simply marked as ‘T’, and sent a quick text message.

 _I read it. Will do my best to follow._ After a moment he also added. _D misses you. Tim’s dad died and… it kinda sucks around here right now. Hope you’re okay._

He had just put the phone away when, the brass knob turned and the door began to creak open. Jason instantly moved to hide the letter on his other side before seeing that it was his father sanding in the doorway. He relaxed, impulsively wiping at his face. If his father noticed the tears, he didn’t say anything for which Jason was grateful.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Jason.” Instead of asking what he was doing sitting on the floor of his study in the middle of the night, Bruce simply took a seat next to him. Jason decided to answer the unspoken question anyway.

“I’m hiding.” He held up the letter and opened envelope. “From Damian. He’s sleeping in my room.”

“Ah.” Bruce nodded his understanding, again not revealing how he felt that he had finally read the letter though Jason suspected he was probably pleased. “How are you?”

Jason shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine.” The tone in which the older man repeated the word made it clear in no uncertain terms that he didn’t believe the teen for a moment.

“I don’t get to be _not_ fine,” he said stubbornly. “Timmy and little d… they get to be very far south of fine. It’s their turn. I’ve already had mine many times over.”

“That’s very noble,” his father nodded, “also incredibly unhealthy.”

“Pot, kettle. Have you met? Where were you tonight?” Jason tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but some of it probably seeped through. He'd disappeared soon after the funeral, and that usually meant he'd been down in the cave working.

“I was at the cemetery,” came the quiet reply. “Asked my parents to take care of Jack and Sue.”

“Does it help?” Jason wasn't even sure what he meant by that.

His father gave the equivalent of a facial shrug. “It helps me.”

“Did you talk to them when... when I died?” Immediately regretting the question, he winced. “Sorry. That was dumb. You don't have to answer that.”

“No, it's alright.” The older man took a deep breath. “To answer your question: no, I didn't talk to them. I should have, but you already know I was in a very dark place then. I lost hope. It's different with Sue and even Jack. I'm sorry they're gone and that Tim is suffering, but harsh as it is, I'm glad it's not anyone within this house.”

“I had the same thought,” Jason admitted. “Back at Titan Tower, when Raven told me it was Jack Drake, I felt almost... relieved. The second before I was imagining it was you or little d. Don’t tell Tim.”

“I won’t, but there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way. I had to explain to Damian that he didn’t have to feel guilty about being happy that you and Dick were coming back. He felt he shouldn’t be considering what was bringing you back early.”

“Huh, irrational guilt about things we cant control.” The teen rested his head against the back of the desk and gave his father a sidelong look. “Wonder who we get it from?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” Jason smirked. “Mrs. K said I look like you, you know.”

Bruce raised both brows then shrugged. “Who am I to argue with Mrs. Kent?”

At some point he must have made it back to bed and actually slept. Slept such a long time that when Damian was shaking him awake it was well past morning and encroaching on the early afternoon. The fact that his little brother was awake first didn’t surprise Jason. What did surprise him was the huge grin and excited wide eyes that were staring back at him. Jason groaned and tried to turn over towards the wall, but Damian pulled insistently on the covers.

“Wake up!” The boy demanded.

“Go ‘way,” Jason groaned. Some of us stayed up for some heart-to-hearts while others napped through the night. Damn, I’m getting old.

“No! Get up!” His brother pushed against his shoulder. “There’s a dog outside!”

“Alfred’s not gonna let you have a dog,” the teen muttered then the full impact of his words caught up with him. Jason’s eyes were instantly wide open and he was sitting up. “Wait… outside? Right now, outside?”

Damian nodded his head vigorously. “It’s out back with the others. Come on!”

Barely having enough time to grab a semi-clean shirt before his little brother pulled him out of the room, within moments Jason found himself being dragged down the stairs and outside into the back yard gardens. Their father and Alfred were standing on the steps watching Dick and Tim on the glass occupied with… yes, that was an enormous black Great Dane. Bruce looked amused, but even through unflappable British stoicism, Jason could tell Alfred was far from happy. Damian let go of his hand and ran ahead.

“I am so sorry,” Jason told the old man then turned to his father and added, “Check the security cameras.”

“Already did,” Bruce smirked over his morning cup of coffee. “You phone is buzzing.”

Not even realizing that it had until his father had pointed it out, Jason scrambled in the picket of his sweat pants, slid his finger over the screen, and read.

_I am sorry about Timothy’s father. Hope this helps. Take care of yourself._

He warily looked back at his father who didn’t appear to be focused on anything but the other boys and hound, but Jason knew better than to think he had gotten away with anything.

“We’re going to have a conversation I won’t enjoy, aren’t we?” he ventured a guess.

“Later,” his father promised with a smile. “For now go see to your dog. He’s your responsibility, not Alfred’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jason nodded and ran towards the others. The hound had been distracted enough by the attention from the others not to notice him when he first came out but as he approached, the dog lifted his blocky head from Damian’s affectionate petting, sniffed the air, and all at once bounded for Jason. At the speed he was going, there was little doubt the dane could easily knock him off his feet so he braced himself and held up a hand.

“Easy, boy.”

The dog halted mere inches away, panting happily and all but bouncing on his front paws. Jason reached down and scratched him behind a sharp pointed ear. He looped better than the week prior. More defined lean muscle stretched over what used to be little but bones and fur. Clearly Talia had been taking good care of him.

“You remember me, don’t you?” The dog gave a happy bark.

“You know him?” Tim asked curiously. He stood a foot ahead with Dick and looked more alive than Jason had seen in a while. The eldest, on the other hand, looked suspicious.

“I… got him at the shelter,” Jason lied, “last evening. Animals make me feel better, so I thought he might help. Wanted it to be a surprise, but I overslept and he must have gotten loose. Sorry.”

“No,” Tim actually smiled for the first time in days. “He’s fantastic. Thank you. What’s his name?”

“Ace,” Jason said at the same time that Damian replied, “Titus.”

He leveled his little brother with a look. “That’s an awful name for a dog.”

“It’s a great name. And it’s already on his collar. See?” Damian pointed to the gold tag that hung from a leather cord around the dog’s neck. “I assume it’s after the Roman emperor, Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus.”

“You scare me, kid.” Jason felt a headache coming on, but he knelt to examine the collar. Of course Talia would give a perfectly good dog such a pretentious name, and of course Damian, being his mother’s son, would like it.

“‘Titus’ means ‘saved’ in Latin,” their father put in mildly from the steps. “Seems… appropriate.”

Damian crossed his arms and smirked, and Jason could have sworn he felt a vein in his temple throb. He looked helplessly to the other two. Dick just shrugged and held up his hands. He was obviously not going to be of help here.

“I like them both,” Tim chimed in. “He can be… Titus Ace Wayne.”

“Agreed,” Damian nodded sagely. The dog barked his own affirmation.

“Fine,” Jason sighed, resigned to being outvoted, “but I’m still calling him Ace.”


	19. Part XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah, work craziness lately plus I'm moving next week. Sorry for the deplay folks, but we're drawing closer to the end, though not without one more curve ball in the next chapter. In this one there are two nods; one to Young Justice and another to Red Hood and the Outlaws. See if you can spot them :)

Regardless of name, the dog seemed perfectly happy to oscillate between Tim and Damian’s rooms as far as where he slept went, and the two youngest residents of Wayne Manor were clearly more upbeat for his presence. Despite Dick’s initial dislike of the way the dog found his way to them after he got the real story out of Jason, he had to admit that the animal was doing a world of good. Damian was badgering everyone about heading into the city and picking out dog toys and supplies but gained not traction; they were still on lock-down until the killer was caught. Dick might have thought it was a little excessive in his case but chose to lead by example least he give the others any ideas about going AWOL.

Finally, almost without warning, it was over.

All four of them were outside the evening two days after the dog’s arrival attempting a game of two-on-two on the basketball court that kept getting interrupted because by the large black shape of the dog bounding after the ball back and forth across the court. Dick had offered to make it as even as possible by taking Damian and keeping the average age of players on each team close. The boy, naturally, wanted to play with Jason, who’d just shrugged.

“Works for me,” he told Dick. “He might be short, but don’t forget who trained him.”

Dick wasn’t sure how long they had been outside or what the score was by the end, but when Jason made his way across the court with Damian on his shoulders high enough for a slam dunk and declared the game won, all four of them collapsed on the court floor laughing breathlessly. Ace padded by him and affectionately licked his cheek, and Dick pored some water from his sports bottle onto his cupped hand so the dog could have a drink too.

“Pretty sure that counts as carrying the ball,” Dick said to Jason.

“Technically I was carrying Damian,” his brother pointed out. “It’s not my fault you didn’t explain all the rules to him.”

“He’s got a point,” Tim agreed. “Totally fair.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Dick pretended to grumble, and they were all laughing again until he spotted Bruce standing in the doorway to the house.

He was wearing the Batman suit.

The sight of Batman in the civilian portions of Wayne Manor was so startling that everyone immediately forgot the game and all four of them rose and walked back to the house. Sensing tension, Ace lowered his ears and growled until Jason patted his head in reassurance. When they reached the doorstep, Bruce looked at them all in turn before his gaze settled on Tim.

“It’s over,” was all he said.

Dick felt as if the air had suddenly become thinner somehow even though they were still outside. Tim was silent for a moment before simply nodding.

“Who was it?” he asked.

Bruce hesitated then looked at his youngest. “Go inside, Damian.”

“No.” To Dick’s - and no doubt everyone else’s - astonishment, the eight-year-old planted himself firmly between Tim and Jason and gave his father a challenging look that was worthy of the dark knight himself. “Am I a part of this family or not?”

Bruce looked far from happy but nodded and returned his attention to Tim. “It was Jean Loring.”

The proverbial pin dropped and silence fell on them again. From the corner of his eye, Dick saw both Jason and Damian frown and even Tim looked a little puzzled for a moment.

“I have no idea who that is,” Jason objected as if he was expecting the name to be someone like Lex Luthor, the Joker, or maybe even Darkseid. Dick had that lingering feeling himself even as he answered his brother.

“That’s Ray Palmer’s ex-wife,” he said quietly. Bruce nodded.

“But... she was one of the victims,” Tim sounded confused and disbelieving. “She was almost hanged.”

“Almost,” Bruce pointed out grimly. “She set it up. Apparently for attention.”

“Attention?” Jason looked disgusted and furious, like he was a hair width’s away from putting his first through a wall. “She set the entire hero community in a panic and killed two people for _attention_?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t make sense, Jay,” Dick said quietly. “Sometimes it’s not the big bads we usually think of.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue, but Tim spoke first. “I’m glad it wasn’t someone… worse,” he said. “If it was, this might not be over yet. I’m glad it’s over.”

Without another word he walked past Bruce and back into the house, the dog faithfully following behind him, somehow innately understanding that the teen needed him more than the others. Dick knew what came next: media frenzy, a court case, imprisonment. None of that really mattered. The dead were still dead and the threat was removed. Everything else was incidental, so the living would go on.

He came down to the cave later and watched as Bruce put the finishing touches on the case file before he clicked the close button and the whole virtual folder disappeared from sight on the enormous screen of the underground computer. Dick knew better than to interrupt him when he was in detective mode, and it was still that even as he was closing the case.

Finally he straightened and looked at him. “What is it, Dick?”

“I just wanted to know if you were planning to go out again tonight,” he asked from the last step of the cave stair case. “If you are, I’ll suit up.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bruce replied sharply, sharper, Dick thought, than he had spoken to anyone since before Jason’s return. Luckily he was well practiced with this version of him as well.

“It’s not for you,” he said calmly, even though it was only partially true. “I promised the others I’d watch your back while Tim’s on the sidelines. Even if you think it’s just ‘babysitting’ you can go along. It’ll make us all sleep easier, especially after everything. We can’t… we can’t loose another father, Bruce.”

It was true. No matter what each of them called him, Bruce was father to all four of them one way or another. For most, he was the only parent they had left, and if anything happened to him, Dick wasn’t sure how any of them would survive. Bruce must have realized this as well, because it clearly hit the mark. He turned the chair to face Dick and sighed.

“I wish I could tell you that you won’t.”

“But you can’t. I know that,” the young man said reasonably. It was akin to having a parent in the military; that just wasn’t a demand one made. “We’re just asking you to be careful.”

Bruce nodded. “How are the others?”

Dick blew out a breath. “Jason’s frustrated. He was obviously hoping for someone… bigger to loose his anger on. Like he finds it insulting that someone whose name he doesn’t recognized caused so much trauma. Damian is just waiting for things to get back to normal, and Tim… I think he’s just honestly happy it’s over. Digger Harkenss is dead, and he didn’t seem too interested in what happens to Jean Loring from here on out.”

“Good,” Bruce nodded. “I still want you and Jason to keep an eye on him.”

“Of course.” That went without saying. “Ace helps. You _do_ know where he came from, right?”

“Same place as Damian and Jason.”

“And we’re okay with that?” Bruce gave him a look, and Dick held up his hands placatingly. “Just asking. Any thoughts on patrol?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight is a night for family.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Tim would never say this in Jason’s presence - probably not even if he was in the same building - but it felt ever so slightly off to see the cave without the case with the old Robin costume. Of course he would trade an infinite number of memorials for the real person, but Tim still found his eyes straying to the empty space at times. Jason had never seen the case. Bruce had taken it down six months ago while Jason was recovering upstairs after their reunion in Crime Alley. Thinking of the case made him think of his own uniform - he still hadn’t asked Bruce what was done with it - so Tim put it out of his mind and descended the rest of the steps into the cave.

A week had passed since Jean Loring’s apprehension in which things had gone back to what passed as normal for most and was the new normal for him. Batman and Nightwing were out on patrol, but the cave wasn’t empty. Jason was in the middle of the sparring mats doing inverted vertical push-ups that looked nearly impossible as Tim tried to imagine the level of control, balance, and upper body strength that had to require. When he saw him from his upside down vantage point, the older teen dropped to the ground and turned to face him. His face was mostly neutral but he was frowning slightly.

“What are you doing up? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

Inwardly Tim couldn’t help but smile at how much his tone was like Dick’s. He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Looks like I’m not the only one.”

Jason’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “I’ll sleep when they get back.”

Tim could sympathize with that. Even with the killer caught and his father at rest, he still very much felt the lingering fear. He must have seemed distracted because Jason nodded at him.

“What’s your excuse?”

The teen opened his mouth to say it was the same but paused. It was more than concern for Bruce and Dick, he knew, but he wasn’t ready to voice it. He gave another small shrug, and thankfully Jason appeared willing to let it go for now. He looked around the training area.

“Want to spar?”

Tim could remember a time when the offer to train with any one of the heroes he worshiped as a child would have brought on an enormous sense of elation. One would have never guessed it from the way he’d followed Dick around in his early days as Robin, but it had actually been Jason who he remembered seeing most often in the red, yellow, and green suit. Dick had went on to be Nightwing soon after Tim’s revelation about the identities of Batman and Robin, and the mantel had been passed on.

And then Jason had been killed and until his return six months ago, Tim had never learned to see his predecessor as a person instead of an idealized hero. He’d certainly learned that quickly. Jason was moody and sarcastic and antisocial as far as anyone outside of those in Wayne manor were concerned. He was also one of the most loyal and protective people Tim had ever met. Heaven helped anyone who came between him and his family, which was also why Tim had tried his best not to encroach on his time with any of the others, especially Damian. As far as he thought of it, Jason still saw him as an outsider, so, no, Tim hadn’t expected to be invited to spar with the second Robin.

“Sure.”

Jason nodded and walked over to the case of various weapons sitting near the edge of the training mat. He picked up one of the bo staffs and tossed it to Tim. The teen caught it a little more clumsily than usual. He looked at Jason who was already talking his place back on the mat.

“Don’t you have anything?”

Jason smirked. “I’m not gonna toss batarangs at your head, kid.”

“No, I mean like this,” Tim held up his bo staff. “Or like Escrima sticks. You never used anything like that?”

“Not really,” the older teen shrugged but picked up a pair of Nightwing’s weapon of choice and flipped them in his hands a few times. “I see the appeal. Could use more of a bite though.”

As if at once both turned to the rest of the weapon cases, and Tim could see that Jason’s eyes landed on the same thing his did: a pair of sleek polished Katana-like short swords. Their gazes lingered for another moment, then Jason laughed.

“Right, because Batman would let Robin - any Robin - run around Gotham like Deathstroke, the Terminator.”

“More like a... ninja,” Tim offered, then added innocently. “Talia al Ghul uses swords.”

Instantly the other was on alert, his eyes narrow. “What do you know?”

The younger teen grinned. “That you and Dick and Bruce aren’t nearly as secretive as you think you are. Also you wouldn’t tell me where that signal you were tracking came from so I dug around the computer and… are you going to tell Damian?”

Jason shook his head. “That’s not up to me.”

“Then I won’t say anything either.”

He gave him a sidelong look. “You just lost your dad. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“I don’t know.” Tim bit his lip. “But I trust you.”

“Why?” He sounded genuinely puzzled, like there was no way anyone in the world should trust his judgment. Tim thought about that then answered in the best way he could.

“Because you’re Robin.” He held up a hand before Jason could argue. “We’re _all_ Robin. Even Dick, though he’ll probably never wear that suit again. Past or present, it doesn’t matter; that’s _our_ identity. No one will ever take that away from us.”

Jason was quiet for a long moment then tilted his head at him. “You only ruled Dick out of wearing the suit again.”

“I have hope for you,” Tim said honestly. “Maybe not the _same_ suit but… you know that mask with the micro tech I made is still lying around.”

“And you _really_ like the name ‘Red Robin’.” Jason rolled his eyes. “I know. I’m telling you right now, kid, I’m not wearing anything that flashy ever again. No more capes.”

“Whatever you like. Kon’s anti-uniforms too. Ah, that’s Conner Kent.” He clarified.

“I know. I met your boyfriend at Teen Tower.” Tim opened his mouth to protest but settled for returning the eye roll instead. Jason didn’t seem to care one way or another. “He seems like a good kid. The others too. They all wanted to come here and support you.”

“I should go see them,” Tim mused, “or maybe have them over to Gotham. Not sure if I’m quite ready for the Tower yet.”

“If you’re not ready, don’t rush it,” Jason advised seriously, “but, sure, have them over and tell them to ship my car back while you’re at it. Just stick to civies. You know how Batman feels about other vigilantes operating in Gotham.”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, feeling his spirits rise. “Okay, sounds like a plan. You should definitely hang with us though.”

“I’ll think about it.” His eyes strayed back to the weapons case, then back at Tim slyly. “So, swords, huh?”

 


	20. Part XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the very first author's note, I said that this fic would be a meshup of two DC stories. The first and most prominent has obviously been Identity Crisis. In this chapter you'll see what the second is. I realize that my choices may not be popular and that the events don't take place at the same time, but hey, AU fanfic. I also realize that Jason isn't shown in the best light in the first half of this chapter. I know, I wanted to slap him too, but I do feel all this was necessary for what I have in mind for the rest of this fic and its sequel. Yes, there will be a part III Enjoy and please review.

It may have been early morning for normal people, but Batman and Nightwing had just returned from patrol. Dick had immediately trod upstairs to sleep, walking past Jason in a semi-zombie like state that made him wonder what the hell he'd been doing in the streets in the first place. His father must have still been down in the cave, and Jason was about to go check on him when something outside the front windows of the manor caught his attention.

His car was back. The Dodge appeared to be unceremoniously driving around the bend and right up to the front door before parking itself. He had the fleeting thought of,  _huh, that was fast_ , until he saw the driver get out. It was no one Jason recognized, a man maybe a year older than himself but definitely younger than Dick. He jogged the rest of the way downstairs and opened the door before the stranger could ring the bell and bother Alfred. The young man with the striking combination of blond hair but naturally dusky skin looked startled for a moment, like Jason was the last person he expected to be seeing, then smiled.

"Hello." His tone was warm and pleasant. "You must be Jason."

"I must be. Who the heck are you and what are you doing with my car?"

"Oh, sorry, I guess you wouldn't know. I'm Connor."

"No, you're not," was the only response Jason could think of, imagining the tall, broad shouldered Kryptonian back at Titan Tower. This was definitely not him.

"Connor Hawke, not Conner Kent," the blond corrected patiently.

"Great," Jason said dryly. "I  _still_  don't know who you are."

"I'm…" the man actually looked a little uncomfortable, his voice dropping lower, "I'm Oliver Queen's son. I… ah… I was planning to stop by anyway, and your car was being delivered so I volunteered to drive it here. I hope that's alright."

He was so ridiculously polite that any impulse Jason had to sneer, make derogatory remarks, or otherwise slam the door in his face evaporated. This was like the opposite of the effect Roy Harper had on him.

"Yeah, it's fine. Come on in." He stepped back and let the newcomer step over the threshold before closing the door behind him. "What brings you all the way Gotham?"

Connor hesitated for a moment, his face going suddenly grim. "I'm looking for Roy. I don't suppose any of you have heard from him?"

 _Uh-oh_. "I'd be the last person he'd talk to," Jason said flatly. "Dick might have, but we've been kind of swamped here. Still in recovery mode, you know."

"I heard," Connor nodded. "And I'm sorry. How's Tim doing?"

"He's keeping busy. Do you want me to get Dick for you? He already went to bed after patrol, but this sounds ominous."

"It is." The blond swallowed hard. "Batman, too, if he's around. I didn't want to bring any more bad news here, but we've had our own death in the family."

Without waiting for him to elaborate, Jason turned and took the stairs two at a time. His brother was slow to wake at first, but as soon as he heard someone from Star City arrived bad news Dick was instantly up and following him back down the stairs. His father, who must have come up from the cave, was already talking to Connor, a deep frown on his face.

"And you're sure it was him?" he asked the youth.

"Yes, sir. He confessed right before Oliver killed him."

Jason raised a brow at this, having caught the tail end of the conversation. Between Connor's reluctance to admit the relation earlier and calling his father by first name, Jason guessed all was not well with the Queen clan. He didn't remember Green Arrow having a son back during his tenure as Robin, so wherever the blond had come from, it must have been recently. The two men noticed their descent and stopped speaking. Connor and Dick exchanged nods by way of greetings, and Jason went to stand next to Bruce.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Lian Harper, Roy's daughter," Bruce elaborated for his benefit. "She's dead."

Behind him, Jason heard his brother gasp and stumble over his words. "How? When?"

"Three days ago," Connor said darkly. "A villain named Prometheus. Our best guess so far is he tried to get away with killing heroes and making it look like part of Jean Loring's plots. We're not sure who exactly his target was in Star City, but there was a bomb planted in Roy's house. He was badly hurt - lost an arm - but survived. Lian…"

"Oh, my God," Dick sat heavily on a stair, hand covering his mouth.

"How old was she?" Jason looked at his father.

"Six."

Six was just two years younger than Damian. Six was a little girl with her whole life ahead of her. He might not have liked Harper, but he wasn't so heartless as to ever wish a kid dead. He was still processing that and Dick appeared too deep in shock to speak, so it was Bruce who did.

"How can we help you, Connor?"

The other man sighed. "After what happened to Lian… Roy is missing. We're afraid he's on the streets and using again. Dinah's looking for him, but Oliver's in jail and I need to look out for Mia. She feels guilty for what happened, and I'm afraid if she stops taking care of herself... I'm sorry to bring all this to your doorstep, sir."

"Don't apologize," Bruce shook his head. "It's a terrible tragedy, but you did nothing wrong. Prometheus is the only one to blame, though I can't say your father helped much by putting an arrow through his skull."

"Believe me, I know." Jason could hear the bitterness in the blond's voice very clearly. A thought began to trickle to the front of his mind, something about fathers and revenge. His brother interrupted the train of thought before it could reach its destination.

"I'll help you look for Roy," Dick's voice sounded horse and weak ask he rose from his place on the stairs. "Let me get a bag together and…"

"Wait a sec!" Jason suddenly didn't at all like where this was going. "You can't leave!"

Dick gave him a pitting look that he absolutely hated. "I have to. Roy's my friend, and if he's very likely in serious trouble, worse than the super villain kind. He needs me."

Logically, Jason knew that. He understood just how great a tragedy the loss of a child must be and knew full well that it was exactly these kinds of traumas that drove addicts, even those that have been clean for years, over the edge.

He didn't care.

"We need you!" He objected vehemently. "Tim lost his dad just a few weeks ago, and you promised to be out in the field with ours or did you forget that little detail?"

"Jason…" his father turned to him, no doubt to say something stupid like that he could handle Gotham himself, but he was having none of it.

"Let Team Arrow take care of their own business," he went on angrily, hand flying in Connor Hawke's direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the other man hang his head slightly.  _Good_ , he thought,  _he_ should  _feel bad_. "Why the hell does their failure to keep their shit together mean Dick has to get dragged all over the country for who knows how long?"

He wasn't done, not nearly, but Dick grabbed his upper arm and thrust him up the large steps until they were all the way on the second floor. No doubt he hoped to keep it a little more private. Clearly he was underestimating how angry and loud Jason could be. Dick dragged him to the far end of the hallway to the door of Bruce's study and away from the staircase and Tim or Damian's rooms until he stopped.

"You know that conversation we had about not necessarily agreeing on the people we care for but respecting each other's decisions anyway?" Dick leveled him with a serious look. "Now would be a good time to remember it."

"You think your junkie friend is anywhere near as important as the woman who gave me life?" Jason exploded. "I repeat: why can't they solve their own damn problems?"

"They're not us," his brother replied. "They're what we were before you came back, before Damian. That's the broken version of us. Something happens here, we rally. You know for an absolute fact that if you need anything - anything at all - you can come to Bruce. They don't have that. Look at how Oliver Queen reacted. You think him in jail helps anyone?"

"And that's our problem because…"

"Because you don't need me. Roy does."

" _I_  don't need you!" Jason shot back. "Timmy needs you. Dad needs you. I haven't needed you since I was twelve years old, and when I did, you weren't there!"

It was a low blow, he knew, and not even a completely true one at that. Six months ago when he returned, Jason had told his brother that he needed him, that he wanted him to stay in Gotham for a while. Dick most likely remembered it, but he still looked very wounded. He sighed heavily and stepped forward, putting both hands on his shoulders. Jason tried to wrench away but he held him firm.

"You're right." Dick admitted. "I wasn't there. And maybe you can do a better job. You have to be the big brother now, Jason. Look after Tim and Damian, be the guardian. I have to go help someone else, but you'll keep the home fires burning."

Jason was so stunned that for a moment he actually stopped struggling. He stared at Dick and opened his mouth to say something he hasn't yet decided on when they were interrupted by soft footsteps behind them. He turned his head to see Tim taking a few cautious steps towards them before finally getting up the courage to walk all the way and stop just a foot away.

"I think you should go," the younger teen told Dick, apparently having overheard the whole conversation. "Help your friend."

"Are you kidding?" Jason demanded but with none of the heat he'd just unleashed on his older brother.

Tim shook his head. "I'd go if it was Conner. Or Bart or Cassie or any of them. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Jason spat and rounded on Dick again. "And what about Batman and Gotham? What about Dad?"

His brother took a deep breath, as if fighting some kind of internal battle. Having apparently finally decided on something, he straightened and looked Jason square in the eyes.

"You have to do what you feel is right," he said before rounding around him and walking back down the stairs. Jason glared daggers at his back, but followed him anyway with Tim right behind him. His father and Connor Hawke were waiting for them at the bottom, and he gave the blond a hateful look.

"I resent you taking away our brother," he spat.

"Be grateful you have brothers," Hawke replied sadly, and Jason wanted to lash out again but found that he just didn't know what to say to that.

Later, when Dick had said his goodbyes to everyone - forcibly pulling Jason into a hug - and departed, he went down to the cave with Tim. The kid probably assumed he wanted to spar to get the anger out of his system, but Jason had something else in mind. Looking towards the weapons display, his eyes then drifted to an empty spot in the cave. He knew that the memorial case containing his old Robin suit had been there. Even if he'd never seen it, even if no one ever talked about it, Jason knew.

He looked at the younger teen.

"I need some iron-on cloth," he said. "In red."

* * *

Batman knew this day would come from the moment he took down the memorial case in the cave dedicated to his second partner. And like the calm, coldly rational individual that Batman was, he took the inevitability in stride. Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, dreaded the day his son would take up the suit in which he had died the first time. It wasn't quite the same suit that he saw now coming down the steps of the cave for his nightly patrol four days after Dick's departure. Between the plane cargo pants, army boots, and leather jacket, Jason looked little different from usual, but the bright crimson bat sign on the backdrop of black Kevlar was unmistakable.

Even without the cowl, the glare he sent his son was impressive.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Bruce asked perhaps more harshly than he'd intended.

Next to Jason, Tim did his best to try and to blend into the shadows. He had no doubt that the younger had been in on this. Jason, on the other hand, looked completely nonchalant behind his red domino mask.

"Red Robin seems to be a popular choice."

"It's not popular with me."

Jason raised his chin, calm but defiant. "The way I see it you have two choices: let me come along and have me where you can see me, or I follow anyway and you won't know where I am."

"I'll know where you are."

"Probably most of the time, but I'll make it difficult," his son promised. "It's up to you, but as someone keeps telling all of us, Batman needs a Robin."

Bruce looked at Tim, who suddenly reminded him of the boy he'd met just a few years ago. Not yet Robin, just a kid who believed in heroes. A child with hope. He was still that despite the recent loss. He took a deep breath and turned his gaze back on Jason.

"You'll follow my instructions to the letter," he began, and the newly christened Red Robin stood straight at attention. "You will obey all my orders without question, and you will  _not_ run away for  _any_  reason. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely," Jason nodded seriously.

Bruce looked over his shoulder at the hilts of swords protruding from either side. "You're not taking those into the field."

"I am. Sorry, but seeing as we're still in the cave, I still get to argue with you. Nightwing and Robin both have weapons, but those are fancy sticks that at worst hit too hard and break some bones. With these," he reached behind himself and touched the hilt of one of the swords, "I  _know_  I can kill someone if I lose control, and that's exactly what's going to help me maintain it."

Bruce regarded him carefully. He wasn't sure if the statement was even partially true, but Jason seemed to genuinely believe it. That belief alone - and perhaps the little-known detail about who had gifted Bruce with the weapons years ago - may be enough to keep his anger and impulsiveness in check.

"If I'm away from the city…"

"I'll sleep in and leave it to Oracle and the Birds."

"If I decide for any reason you shouldn't be out there…"

"I head home right away," Jason assured him and grinned. "I'll even wait till you're back to argue."

He sighed but nodded. Really, what choice was there? As he'd overheard his eldest advise before he departed, Jason would do what he felt was right. It was different than the first time. This wasn't about the thrill of running through Gotham in the middle of the night and punching out thugs. It was about looking after his father and brothers, and looking at the two youths before him, Bruce had no doubt that the latter included Tim. His eyes shifted towards the swords again.

"You know how to use those?" Jason nodded, and Bruce pulled on his cowl. "Show me."


	21. Part XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, folks! I'll leave most of my comments for the author's end note but I'd love to hear yours!

Jason hadn’t really expected to be out in the field the first night. Initially it had taken six months of training before he donned the original Robin costume. Tim, he’d heard, required a year at least. But even his father’s paranoia - no matter how understandable given the circumstance - couldn’t keep him benched for months, Jason reasoned. He was in great shape, his muscle memory being perfect, probably even better than before his death given that Talia had made sure he received plenty of training even if his conscious mind wasn’t aware of it. He must have picked up quite a bit of new moves because during one of their sparring scions, Jason had managed a new disabling blow within minutes.

“I didn’t teach you that,” his father looked both surprised and suspicious.

Jason had just shrugged and helped him up from the sparring mat.

He hadn’t expected to be benched for months. At worst, Jason figured a few weeks to prove his capabilities should have sufficed. Which was why on the evening he was sure he would finally get to follow Batman on patrol, the sight of his father at the door with a suitcase didn’t please him.

“We’re not patrolling tonight, are we?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m needed in the Metropolis office for a few days. You’re on Tim and Damian duty.”

“The glamorous assignment,” Jason snorted but didn’t complain. “Is Metropolis code for visiting the blue boyscout or do you really need to be at the Wayne Enterprises office there?”

“The office. There have been some complaints about less than cordial interaction from LexCorp and I want to see for myself. Something tells me I’m going to have to have a chat with Luthor.”

“Ah, have fun with that.”

The few times Jason had had to observe his father in action in the corporate world, he’d been amazed how Bruce managed to appear completely clueless and still keep an enormous international company running smoothly. His competitors must have either thought he was incredibly lucky or had someone else running it for him, neither of which was true though Lucias Fox did a lot to help. He wondered what Luthor thought.

Damian came down the stairs at that moment holding on to the scruff of Ace’s neck.

“I can’t find his collar,” the boy complained. “He had it yesterday, but now it’s gone.”

“It must have come loose when you were playing,” Bruce said and looked at Jason. “Can you take them into the city and get a new one?”

“Yeah, sure.” It wasn’t like he had patrol to go on. “Go get Timmy, little D.”

Damian turned to go, then paused and looked at their father, taking in his clothes and suitcase. “Are you leaving, too?”

“Just for a few days,” Bruce promised. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you entertained,” Jason promised jokingly, but he couldn’t help but sympathies. Between Dick leaving, witnessing Tim deal with his father’s death, and the ever-present thought of his mother’s absence, he could understand why Damian wouldn’t be thrilled with their father leaving even on something as simple and boring as a trip to a satellite office.

“Go get Tim,” he repeated, and when Damian was well on his way back up stairs he turned to their father. “You know you can tell me if this _is_ something else. Superman isn’t as touchy about his territory as Batman is, so if it’s a mission, Red Robin can suit up.”

“It’s just a business trip,” Bruce assured him. “No need to be so suspicious.”

“Ha! Do you know who raised me?”

“Point taken, but it’s nothing. The best thing you can do for me is look after your brothers.”

“Always do.”

He had no doubt that his father meant both Damian _and_ Tim, and it didn’t phase him. None of them were blood brothers. Their familial relationships were a made up of common experiences - often tragedies - and in the case of the three oldest, wearing one version or another of the same red, yellow, and green costume. Though he would have never thought so six months ago, Tim was as much his brother as Dick or Damian, and he defied anyone who dared say differently.

Okay, so he was benched, but Jason honestly didn’t mind too much. He spent the afternoon playing Zelda with Damian and the evening reviewing the new gadgets with Tim. Lacking any kind of utility belt, his cargo pants nonetheless came with enough pockets to more than make up for it. Tim kept talking about the use of various devices handing them to Jason as he explained each function. He already had a tiny inferred camera, fingerprint and sample scanners that would automatically upload to the cave’s computer and his mask, vials of antidotes for anything the Joker, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy or a host of others could throw at him, and a small soldering wand and cutting torch.

“If you want,” Tim held up the red domino mask, “press the edge by your right temple and everything you see and hear will be streamed live to the cave. It’ll be a two-way feed actually.”

“The better for you to backseat drive?” Jason raised a brown, then quickly sensing that Tim was about to take it the wrong way, amended. “It’s a good setup, kid. There’s probably a lot of new stuff in the city I don’t know. It’ll be good to have an extra pair of eyes out there.”

Tim brightened at that. “I can feed you back sample analysis in real time, too.”

“Of course you can,” Jason smiled, and suddenly another conversation came to him. It was only a few weeks ago but felt like forever when he’d been on the road in the mid-west. Dick had been driving, and he was watching a show about two brothers fighting monsters all over the country. Dick had said something to him then, something he’d waved off as ill-fitting at the time but now he knew his brother had been absolutely right. He looked back at the newest person he was proud to call that.

“You’re Sam,” he declared triumphantly and without waiting to see the confused look on the younger teen’s face went back to the tools on the table between them.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Bruce arrived in Metropolis he didn’t go to the office right away. He didn’t even go to his penthouse. Instead he went to the park. Many large cities like Metropolis, New York, and Boston were designed with some kind of centrally located green area. Even Gotham, though older, had Robinson Park which Bruce remembered enjoying as a child but would have advised anyone against venturing there past sunset.

But that was Gotham.

The Centennial Park in Metropolis was virtually crime-free any hour of the day which was largely thanks to the enormous Superman statue at its center. At one point it had been the Kryptonian’s tomb but now was just a tourist attraction. There was nothing particularly mystical about it, but criminals were as superstitious in Metropolis as they were in Gotham and few dared invade the park as long as the sentinel guarded it. He paused behind a bench near the end of a path from the statue.

“It is terribly gaudy,” the sole occupier of the bench before him commented smoothly.

Bruce looked up at the statue of the man of steel. “I don’t think he likes it much either. Just sort of tolerates it because it makes the public happy.”

“Tell me they don’t have one for the Batman in the Gotham Police Department head quarters.”

“If they do, I don’t know about it.”

“And here I thought you knew everything.”

He looked down at the object in his hand, the golden tag, and traced his thumb across the letters. Not the dog’s name, but the maker’s stamp engraved into the back of the soft gold. Such a signature was unique to a small privately owned shop in Metropolis that specialized on all kinds of custom jewelery and engravings. The action didn’t go unnoticed.

“You cannot help it, can you?” A long dark chocolate lock of hair flipped as she turned and tilted her head slightly to look at him. “A gift for your sons, and still you must treat it as a case.”

“In my defense,” Bruce said, still to looking anywhere but straight ahead at the statue. “I’m more likely to investigate anything that has to do with them. And you did make it very easy, practically gift wrapped with exact coordinates.”

“I believe I am insulted.” She gave him a look that he easily remembered as less than pleased.

“I might believe that if I didn’t know you as well as I do.” He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and sat down on the bench by her though not too close. “Come on, you couldn’t have seriously thought to bring something like this to my doorstep and not have me follow through.”

“Sometimes an act of kindness is just that. Hardly a reason to be so suspicious.”

For some reason that put him at ease. Bruce chuckled and leaned back. “You know that’s exactly what Jason said. He thinks I have ulterior motives for being here.”

“I have absolutely no doubt.”

He raised a brow at that. “That I have ulterior motives or that Jason thinks I do?”

“Both. He is a very bright boy.”

Bruce chuckled. “That _boy_ is almost twenty.”

“I fail to see your point.”

Of course she did, because like any parent, Talia would forever see her sons as children no matter what age they were. He could sympathise with that and thought that perhaps now would not be the best time to tell her about Red Robin and that he would soon be on the streets of Gotham with her short swords. He changed the topic.

“What are you doing here, Talia?”

“I enjoy the fresh air.”

“I meant in Metropolis.”

“Metropolis is safe.” It was one of the last things he expected to hear and questioningly looked in the direction of the statue, but she shook her head. “Your friend has nothing to do with it. Not for me.”

There was a long pause, a silence not at all comfortable, while they sat together on the bench. Strangers didn’t sit as far apart or with as much tension as they did. The space between them felt frigid. Seeing but not really watching people pass by, he felt like they had been sitting there for an eternity until she finally turned slightly and gave him a quizzical look.

“Why are _you_ here, Bruce?”

There was something startling about that question, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the fact that she had called him by his given name. He’d always been either ‘Batman’ or ‘Beloved’ to her. Hearing ‘Bruce’ was somehow jarring. But he didn’t have to think about her question. The truth was that he’d been thinking about it in one form or another since the letter came all those months ago, since he’d walked in Robinson Park with Jason and had been forced to think about a lot of the things he’d been avoiding.

“I’m here because,” he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, “because I’m angry. Eight years of Damian’s life and at least a year and a half of Jason’s…”

“I cannot give you back those years,” she interrupted, not unapologetic. “Nor is any explanation I provide likely to justify my actions or assuage your anger.”

“No.” If anything, it was liable to make it worse.

“Then I repeat: why are you here? What is it you hope to gain?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for The Guardian, everyone! Parts of this story (the idea to do Identity Crisis and parts of Cry Justice) came to me while I was writing The Changeling which is why I made a point to mention that Jack Drake was still alive. Other parts, like the road trip, came to me when I got into Supernatural. Not gonna lie, I caught up on seven and a half seasons within a few months, and it fit with what I wanted to write for this fic. The first was all about Jason and Damian and their homecoming, the second is about Jason and Dick and really all their collective brotherhood, Tim included. The third... well, you'll see ;) I hope you all enjoyed this. See you next time!


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